


A Tightrope Between The Stars

by Amymel86, vivilove



Category: A Song of Ice and Fire & Related Fandoms, A Song of Ice and Fire - George R. R. Martin, Game of Thrones (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Historical, Angst, F/M, Idiots in Love, More tags to be added, Mutual Pining, Rating May Change, Slow Burn, circus AU, trapeze artist!Sansa, turn of the century travelling circus
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-11-26
Updated: 2019-02-18
Packaged: 2019-08-28 07:23:45
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 16
Words: 42,178
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16718932
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Amymel86/pseuds/Amymel86, https://archiveofourown.org/users/vivilove/pseuds/vivilove
Summary: Jon is a wanderer, and for so long it's just been him and Ghost. But with the opportunity to join a travelling circus comes the chance for him to find a family and more.*****Some children daydreamed of running off to join the circus. Sansa and her siblings had grown up with it amidst the hustle and bustle of traveling from town to town. There were times she longed to find one place and stay there for more than a moon but this was her family.  After tragedy left the two oldest Stark siblings trying to manage things though, Sansa wonders if she'll ever find romance.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Titania_Queen_of_the_Fairies](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Titania_Queen_of_the_Fairies/gifts).



> All Sansa PoV chapters by Vivi, all Jon chapters by Amy.
> 
> Hey guys! For quite a few weeks now, Vivi and I have been having loads of fun passing this fic back and forth between ourselves and discussing our ideas about the plot. We really hope that you enjoy it as much as we've loved writing it! The first two chapters have been posted together so that you can get a flavour for the PoVs. We'll be updating quite regularly until we've posted all that we've written so far (which is a fair amount!). After that, things might slow down a bit but we're still both super enthusiastic about this story.
> 
> This historical fic is not striving for 100% historical accuracy but we are _very loosely_ basing it around a 1910s/1920s version of Westeros.
> 
> Gifted to Tanya from both of us - thank you for all your lovely support!

“Wasn’t your fault, boy,” Jon murmured to Ghost as they ambled along the dust track. “Quit lookin’ all sorrowful.” He reached over and scratched his wolf friend behind the ear.

He’d told the old man that if him and Ghost were to properly patrol his land; warding off poachers, scaring the foxes away from his prize geese, ducks and chickens, then as well as food and board, he’ll have to provide something for the direwolf’s belly too. It had started off alright; Ghost was grateful for his daily chicken. But then, the old farmer had claimed that as the wolf was a competent hunter, he could see to chasing down the large population of rabbits and let that be his daily nourishment.

It was almost as if Ghost had known that the old man had gone back on his promise. If Jon had gotten there sooner, he would have been able to stop his wolf from running amok inside the goose pen. By the time he’d reached the commotion, three of the fattest ganders were dead, a fluttering of feathers falling around the carnage like snow.

The old man sent them both packing after that. It doesn’t matter. Jon always figured it was a temporary gig – they always are. He’s not even completely sure that he wants to stay here in The Reach, as green and lush as it is. Maybe he should head east, board a boat, see what warmth he can find on the shores of Essos?

Ghost made a whining sound as he continued to pad alongside him. He couldn’t picture the animal faring well on a boat.

Coming to a fork in the road, Jon halted, tilting his head at the road signs. “Cider Hall,” he said aloud, “has a nice ring to it, don’t you think, boy?” Ghost only continued to pant in reply. In the other direction lay Highgarden, Jon had been there before; full of high-class ladies and gents all clamouring over one another to climb the ladders of society. Ghost had been much smaller then, he’d looked like a normal wolf or large dog.

Jon wrinkled his nose. “Come on,” he tapped his thigh and made to take the path towards Cider Hall when he caught sight of an advertisement nailed to a large oak tree beside the road sign.

_The Stark Family Circus_

_Be Dazzled!_

_Be Amazed!_

_Be Delighted!_

_The finest in daring entertainment that Westeros has to offer is performing at their 3 ring travelling circus._

_Highgarden’s South Rose Fields for 3 weeks only._

_Tickets only 4 dragons per person._

“Well isn’t that something?” Jon said to himself before they took the path towards Highgarden after all. “Come on, boy.”

****

He heard the circus before he saw it. The constant  _clang, clang, clang_  of mallets hitting tent pegs. Leaning his forearms on the wooden fence that surrounded the fields, Jon and Ghost were content to just watch the goings on of the travelling circus setting up their grand entertainment.

The site seemed huge to Jon. One enormous striped big top was the focal point of it all, with waving flag bunting and three separate pointed spires. There were quite a few other tents here and there, but it was clear that this is where the main event would take place.

Some of the wagons were still being unloaded, and on one side of the field was a penned in area for horses. People milled about like they were in their own little busy village. Everyone seemed to have a purpose.

Two workers broke away from the hubbub and began making their way towards Jon, making him straighten where he stood. They were most likely going to ask him to move along. One of them was as broad as an ox, the other slim but had an open smile on his face as they neared. “He friendly?” the slim one asked, inclining his head towards Ghost.

“He can be.”

The larger man, the one who looked like he could pull one of those wagons all by himself, folded his arms across his chest. “Can he be trained?”

Jon narrowed his eyes. “Who wants to know?”

“Our boss, Mr Stark.”

“Why?”

The slim one smiled again. “Come talk to him and find out. The name’s Pyp,” he offered his hand, “and this here’s Grenn.”

****

If the commotion of the circus seemed hectic from the outside looking in, then being amongst it was dizzying, thought Jon as he followed Pyp and Grenn through the maze of tents, Ghost stalking along warily beside him. People only seemed to have a few seconds to spare to stop and stare at the enormous wolf before carrying on with their tasks. Pathways were already being trodden down in the lush green grass of the field as the sun beat down, hot on the back of Jon’s neck. The air smelt of work horses and, rather curiously, sweet melted butter. Jon’s stomach rumbled.

A boy walked across their path, carrying some more tent poles ready for use, except, when Jon looked again, it wasn’t a boy at all, but a young lady in dusty boy’s clothing. “You have girls doing this kind of work?” he asked out loud.

Pyp turned and shrugged. “Everyone pitches in.”

“Everyone, except  _Princess_ ,” Grenn groused.

“She works plenty hard.”

Grenn sniggered at that. “Oh aye. I’m sure she was working very hard entertaining his Lordship last night.”

Jon purposely coughed and looked away, pretending to be interested in the horses who were having a brush down. He’d never been one for gossip, considering his mother had been at the centre of much of it when she was alive.

Quite suddenly, the young girl who Jon had mistaken for a boy appeared out of nowhere. She had a dirty smudge across the bridge of her nose… and a dagger in her hand. “Talk about my sister like that again and I’ll strap you to my wheel,” she hissed, the point of her knife glinting dangerously.

Grenn raised his hands in surrender. “Alright, alright… I didn’t mean nothin’ by it,” he grumbled. The young girl gave him one last look before artfully twirling her dagger and then tucking it into her belt as she walked away.

Before Jon had a chance to ask exactly who that extraordinary young woman was, another man approached them with a warm inviting smile upon his face and a hand already outstretched in greeting.

“Robb, Robb Stark,” he grinned, “owner and ringmaster of this marvellous circus you see before you.”

Jon’s brows rose as he gave his own name. He’d expected Mr Stark to be older… and better dressed, considering he owned all of this. The man stood before him was about the same age as Jon, and he wore similar attire too; a loose cotton undershirt, faded and stained here and there from hard work, rough woollen trousers and suspenders. His sleeves were pushed up to his elbows and his forearms were baring the marks of dirt, dust, and hard work.

 _‘Everyone pitches in’_ , Pyp had told him. It looked to be true.

“You wanted to talk to me?” Jon asked.

Robb Stark’s bright blue eyes flit towards Ghost, the animal being at the same height as Jon’s shoulder. “Why, yes. I wondered if you and your magnificent beast here would be lookin’ for work?”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I just want to say thank you to Vivi for agreeing to write this with me! It's been a blast so far, and who knows, with Vivi holding my hand, I might actually finish something???? ~ Amy


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sansa is introduced and the Stark backstory is given.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hello! I wanted to say how delighted I am to write this story with Amy and thank her for suggesting it! I really love the Circus genre and we hope you'll enjoy our story :)

 

The hammering of the mallets and shouts from outside the sleeping car woke Sansa. They were sounds she’d known all her life and normally did not bother her. However, despite her hope to sleep till noon today after performing at Petyr’s soiree last night, she decided she’d had enough slumbering.

She washed her face and rinsed out her mouth before throwing on her dressing gown, hoping Beth would bring her a bite soon if there was anything left. Everyone else had likely eaten hours ago.

She picked up her silver and ivory handled hairbrush to brush her copper locks, both of which she’d inherited from her mother. The ivory was chipped and the silver tarnished like all of what little finery the Starks still possessed. Robb had high hopes that someday they’d know luxury again but Sansa did not. Such things always had a price attached.

She gazed in the mirror at the girl staring back at her. To be all of nineteen, she certainly felt old this morning.

Five years ago, the Stark Family Circus had been the most popular traveling circus throughout Westeros. Her father’s family had started it back before Sansa had been born and her Uncle Brandon had been the circus’s first exuberant ring-master. But when he’d taken the show south of the Neck, he’d died in a brawl one night at a tavern after an altercation with some locals.

Her father had reluctantly taken over and encouraged Roderick Cassel to take on the role of ring-master. Ned Stark had been a quiet man, happier to manage to the animals and see to his performers’ needs than to pander to the audience. He was also the primary horse trainer. The Starks’ Amazing Sterling Steeds were the show’s biggest draw along with her mother’s act.

Lady Cat, the Aerial Artiste, who’s skill on the trapeze were only surpassed by her amazing stunts on horseback and her lovely voice, had amazed and thrilled audiences across the Seven Kingdoms.

Some children daydreamed of running off to join the circus. Sansa and her siblings had grown up with it amidst the hustle and bustle of traveling from town to town. There were times she longed to find one place and stay there for more than a moon. But, all the people connected to the show, from Luwin the Mighty Illusionist to Farlen and His Fanciful Performing Hounds to Hodor the simple stable hand (as well as their World’s Strongest Man act), they were part of their family and Sansa would be loath to leave them.

But three years ago, another act had started stealing their limelight…the Lannisters’ Golden Lion Extravaganza. From Casterly Rock, they came and they came to conquer the traveling circus scene apparently. Her father had said there was room enough for more than one traveling circus troupe in a country as large as Westeros. And there should’ve been. But everywhere the Stark Family Circus went it seemed the Lannisters’ Golden Lion Extravaganza would turn up as well. Their trained lions were quite a draw compared to horses and dogs, even if there were rumours of those lions not always behaving. But they were fearsome beasts. Only dragons, if such things still existed, might’ve drawn a larger crowd. Thus, the Starks had found their circus struggling.

Ned Stark had said they could return to the North where lions might not care to follow nor like the winds of winter. There were plenty of towns that would still be pleased to see the Starks’ circus train rolling into town.

But tragedy had struck before he could act on his plans.

Sansa would never forget waking in the night to the sounds of screaming horses, frightened cries of children and the smell of smoke. In the grey light of morning, the Stark children had found themselves orphans, losing not only their parents but Roderick Cassel and other members of the family as well in one horrific night.

After their period of deep mourning, Robb, ever the optimist, had said they would rebuild. Sansa and her younger siblings had put their faith in him. Their big brother would do whatever he could to keep them together and their family’s dream alive, she knew.

And, he had. Day and night, he’d toiled. But circuses don’t run themselves and the debts began to mount. The Lannisters were still dogging their steps it seemed, determined to see them reduced to a two-horse novelty act that could never offer them any competition again.

Salvation had arrived a year ago in the form of one of their mother’s childhood friends…or so they’d thought.

Lord Petyr Baelish had money galore and claimed his dearest wish was to see his beloved friend’s children succeed at their enterprise. Robb had been hesitant to accept the man’s money but in time, he and Sansa had both agreed that they had to be able to pay their people and keep their circus operating if they didn’t want to give up.

The circus began to flourish again and the Lannisters moved on to other cities and towns without following them everywhere. Unfortunately, the interest from their debts was accumulating at an unexpectedly fast rate. When Lord Baelish had asked Robb for a return on his investment, Robb had nearly choked at the amount he requested.

 _“We don’t have so much as that, not nearly so much,”_ he’d whispered to Sansa, not wanting the younger ones to worry.

 _“Shall I speak with him?”_ she’d asked. He’d always been so polite, attentive and flattering towards her. Perhaps she could beg him to give them a bit of time, to allow them a chance to meet his terms.

He’d been receptive to her pleas but Sansa had learned there was a price attached.

Sansa had taken over her mother’s act and was becoming even more well known for her lovely voice. She’d been dubbed the Little Bird and Baelish had seen an opportunity.

_“There are men who’d pay a good deal to listen to your captivating singing, sweetling, away from the smell of horses and the braying of children. I could organise private performances where you could enchant and beguile high society for an hour or two and help lower your poor brother’s debts in the meanwhile.”_

And so, Sansa had found herself in the unenviable position of allowing Petyr Baelish to escort her away quite often at night to sing for the wealthy, dripping of jewels and in evening gowns which he provided that her parents never would’ve approved of her wearing. He seemed to have acquaintances in nearly every town they travelled to and Sansa would find herself in demand before she ever set foot off the train.

Robb would scowl and say it was not necessary for her to entertain his lordship’s friends but he’d worked so hard to keep them together and their circus afloat after her parents’ death. Singing for the posh and putting up with the occasional unsolicited and unrequited advance was not too great a price for her to pay, was it?

Sansa stirred from her musings as the compartment door slid open. Beth had brought breakfast.

“Bless you, Beth. I’m famished.”

The girl smiled prettily and laid out the bit of ham and fresh bread with a pot of honey. “There’s tea, Miss Sansa. And his lordship sent a whole bushel of lemons this morning if you’d like a bit with it.”

Sansa frowned. He’d turn her against lemons if he kept on with his gifts. She’d tried to make it very plain last night.

 _“I’ll sing for your friends but I am not a…I’m not some toffer masquerading as a chanteuse!”_ she’d hissed.

 _“Of course not,”_ he’d said in that oily tone of his as he stroked her cheek with his forefinger. _“My little song bird is a virtuous girl. It only adds to her allure.”_

“He sent this as well,” Beth said, breaking the flow of Sansa’s unpleasant memories as she placed a velvet box and note upon Sansa’s vanity.

She unfolded the note and rolled her eyes. _‘Forgive me if I get carried away by your bewitching beauty, sweet Sansa. I am your servant, now and always.’_

She tossed the note aside and opened the box. The diamonds of the bird’s eyes were certainly real as was the gold that made their little bodies. She closed the box on the earbobs and handed them back to Beth.

“Please see that these are returned to Lord Baelish. I’m not singing for them tonight. We have to rehearse and set up the next couple of days and I won’t need such expensive accoutrements under the big top where they might be lost or damaged.”

“Yes, Miss Sansa.”

Sansa sighed and glanced back at the girl in the mirror. _I am a performer, not a whore_ , she reminded herself.

Just as Beth slipped from the compartment and Sansa began to break her fast, she heard a loud commotion outside. Men were talking excitedly and the horses were clearly upset. Something was causing a disruption to the morning’s work. She should probably go and see if her help was needed.

Cinching her dressing gown securely around her waist, she rose and left the quiet of her dim train car. She was greeted by a flood of sunshine and a scene of utter chaos.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I totally dumped that first introduction on Amy! *cackles*


	3. Chapter 3

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Jon meets a knock-out

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Just a short chapter I'm afraid. But don't worry because updates should be quite regular for a while :)

He shouldn’t’ve let himself get distracted by Robb Stark’s patter. The man was a salesman, that’s for sure. He sold Jon the virtues of a life with the circus with very little effort. Food in their bellies, a place to rest their heads and a few coins to spare is what they offered in return for pitching in, and seeing if his wolf would take to being trained. Not too different to all the other circumstances they’ve found themselves in over the years… well, apart from that time his father had tried to get him to join the higher echelons of society with him. Jon reckons that Lord Rhaegar Targaryen was mightily put out when his bastard shunned his circle of ladies and gents in favour for drifting from town to town with nothing to his name but his wolf.

Speaking of which…

“And you’re sure you can spare the meat for Ghost? ‘Cause he’s no trouble unless he’s hungry,” Jon was explaining to a smiling Robb Stark when he heard a loud nervous whinny. He turned to see his wolf looking very interested in the group of small ponies being led through the site. They looked to be the type that fancy folks paid for their children to take a ride on. A lot of them were smaller than Ghost, fat looking too. One of the ponies reared and kicked out its front hooves as the wolf came closer for a better look. That seemed to set off three more who stomped and whickered until one of them bolted from the lad who was leading the animal. People began to shout.

“Hey! Hey! Hey!” Robb Stark bellowed, “keep control of the animals!”

Jon whistled to get his wolf’s attention who looked back to him as if nothing at all was amiss. “Ghost, to me.” His friend did as was asked, an act that made Robb Stark’s eyebrows raise.

“You’ve already got him half-way trained it seems.”

“He’s a good wolf,” Jon scratched his friend behind the ear, “but if you’re serious about him doin’ some kind of performance…” he paused, rubbing at his beard, “I don’t rightly know how he’ll fare in front of a crowd, with all the noise and what-not.”

The loose pony galloped past them, four men chasing after the thing. Ghost didn’t even flinch. “He seems pretty steady in the face of commotion to me,” Robb commented, grinning at the wolf.

Jon’s eyes followed the spooked pony until they led him to see the girl making her way towards them. Not just any girl. A beauty. Jon could hardly remember how long its been since he saw anything half as lovely as the redhead stepping through the longer grass, wearing a peach-coloured crushed-velvet type of robe, complete with matching feather trim. His mouth parted and his pulse thumped in his ears. She eyed the pony on the run, as well as the men in pursuit before turning to face them as she neared.

Her eyes were the prettiest shade of blue.

“What on earth’s going on?” she asked, her eyes widening at Ghost and then her hands pulling her robe together more tightly as she noticed Jon.

_Quit staring, you idiot!_

“Jon here and his wolf are joining the troupe,” Robb announced, pleased as punch even though Jon had not technically fully agreed to the arrangement.

The redhead let out a little gasp that did funny things to the hairs on the back of Jon’s neck. “Is he friendly?” she asked, already stretching out a hand towards Ghost.

“Uh…As long as he’s not hungry or think me in danger,” Jon managed, watching as the woman’s hand smoothed against the wolf’s muzzle and then down the side of his neck.

“You’re gorgeous, aren’t you boy?” she cooed, bringing the other hand up to sink into the thick white fur around Ghost’s shoulders. What was that feeling in the outer edges of Jon’s stomach? Was it jealousy? Of what? His wolf? “Do you think he’d let me ride him?” she asked. _Why, yes. Yes, it was jealousy._

“I…er…” Jon watched as she wrenched her eyes away from the panting beast, fixing him with them and making his heart beat double-time, “I’ve never tried…he’d… he’d have to trust you first.”

“Of course,” she smiled, looking back to the happy beast and giving his chest a scratch before straightening and offering Jon her hand. “Sansa Stark, trapeze…among other things,” she smiled.

Her hand fit perfectly within his.

“Jon Snow,” he answered, _here to do whatever you want me to,_ he added to himself.


	4. Chapter 4

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> They meet from Sansa's POV :)

Naturally, it was the giant wolf that had drawn her eye at first. He was enormous, the most exquisite creature.

_A direwolf._

She recalled the name from an old storybook she’d loved as a child. They were said to be nearly as extinct as dragons and giants these days.

Sansa was surprised she wasn’t more frightened of the beast. His red eyes were rather startling. One snap of those powerful jaws and it could be all she wrote.

But instead of being afraid, she hadn’t been able to resist making his acquaintance, stretching out her hand as though he were one of Harlen’s new pups. His fur was soft and thick and she felt the strangest urge to bury her face in it.

And, the man with him…

_Sweet Maiden, he’s a handsome devil._

Despite his near-do-well attire, he was sure to turn many a girls’ head with his dark curls and grey eyes. His shirt sleeves were rolled up and his trousers had seen better days for certain. She imagined broad, strong shoulders under those suspenders. He was holding a cap in one hand when she offered him hers.

His hand was callused and warm, a working man’s hands. Not at all like soft hands that did very little except wrap themselves around her waist without permission.

Sansa wore her gloves when she performed on the horses but the trapeze? Gloves were too dangerous for that. Thus, hers were no longer what a lady’s hands were expected to be. Lord Baelish was forever hissing at her to keep her gloves on around his society friends. As if she’d go without gloves like some heathen there in the first place. But, Jon Snow didn’t seem to mind her hands as they were.

There was something about his smile that made her feel all fluttery inside.

_Careful, Sansa. A handsome drifter like him could leave a girl broken-hearted and even in the family way faster than she could say ‘Abracadabra!’_

He was stumbling over his words a bit after she asked him about riding the wolf. It was refreshingly forthright how he didn’t seem to have his words all planned out in advance like some. There was a touch of pink to his cheeks and Sansa wondered what might be making him uncomfortable and if it could possibly be her.

“What an act it’d make,” Robb murmured under his breath, his eyes darting between herself and the wolf.

She knew that look in her brother’s eyes. She’d made the suggestion but Robb was already envisioning the Dragons dancing their way.

“What’s his name?”

“Oh, this is Ghost, Miss Stark.”

“Ghost…what an excellent name for him.” Why was she blushing like a debutante at her first assembly? “And you may call me Sansa.”

“Yes, Miss Sansa,” he said in a wistful tone that did nothing to stop that blushing nonsense. “That’s a pretty name.”

Well, didn’t that make her heart go all flitter-flutter? “It’s a name,” she said a touch stiffly in a vain attempt to keep her head together. It was time to make herself scarce if she was going to get twitter-pated over everything this man said. But before she departed, she could not help adding a warm, “Welcome to our little family, Jon Snow. If my brother doesn’t keep you tied up this afternoon, perhaps you might like to come by the Big Top and watch some of the rehearsal.”

He nodded and she turned to go back towards her little abode.

She noticed the looks cast her way from a few of the hands. Most were friendly but a few weren’t. She could just about guess what they said about her behind her back. They’d all been up since dawn, working in the hot sun and she was still in her dressing gown. Gods only knew what tales they invented about her.

_They weren’t out singing for Mr. Tyrell and his friends till the hour of the wolf._ _The hour of the wolf…_

That thought pleased her as she cast a parting glance over her shoulder at the great white wolf and his friend. It gave her a thrill to see Jon was watching her walk away even with Robb nattering in his ear.

Still, fawning over the new addition wouldn’t help her reputation none and probably wouldn’t please Lord Baelish if word got back to him. Much as she disliked his attentions, it was him that held the note on their family’s enterprise and it was imperative she do what she could to keep him happy…within reason.

Back in the relative quiet of her dressing area, Sansa looked at the girl in the mirror again. Why, that girl looked positively nineteen again. Her cheeks were stained a delicate pink and her blue eyes sparkled. Where’d she been hiding?

She cast aside her dressing gown and started putting her hair up into a serviceable bun. But when she reached into an armoire, her fingers by-passed the plain skirts and working dresses she might choose for a day like this. Instead, she selected something with a bit more razzle-dazzle, something that might draw a certain handsome devil’s eye.

_High time I practice the latest tune on the hoop. I wonder what song he might like. I’ll ride Lady and show him that I’m an accomplished horsewoman as well. Perhaps that may sway him to allow me to try and ride Ghost._

Sansa gasped at the train of her thoughts and touched her hot cheek. Even if he had the time, there was no way of knowing if he’d come watch her.

But, she certainly hoped he would.

 


	5. Chapter 5

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Jon gets a tour of the circus camp and goes to see Sansa's rehearsal.

Jon shook his head of the spell he’d been cast under. _It’ll do you no good dwellin’ on a pretty thing like that anyhow,_ he thought as Sansa Stark walked away _._ Robb Stark was saying something but he unthinkingly wasn’t paying him any mind before the guy hurriedly shook his hand and instructed Pyp and Grenn to show Jon around.

“You hungry?” Pyp asked. Jon nodded, letting out a grunt and tried to make it seem as though he wasn’t absolutely famished. Ghost whined and smacked his chops. “Come on,” he said, turning and waving Jon along with them, “it won’t be much, but let’s see what we can scrounge from Old Nan.”

“Now don’t you boys come to me lookin’ for more t’eat!” a greying old woman groused, digging her fists into her hips with a beat-up old ladle held within the grasp of one of them. “Can’t have been more than ten minutes ago you were clearing me out of oatmeal this mornin’!” she told them as they walked towards her and past four rows of long, well-worn fold-out wooden trestle tables and benches.

“That was almost five hours ago, Nan,” Grenn grinned, leaning down to press a peck to the woman’s wrinkled cheek when she offered it. Pyp followed suit.

“Well, now,” she said to herself when she took in Jon and his wolf, “who the devil do we have here?”

“You tell us,” Pyp chuckled, “didn’t you see them comin’?”

“Less of your cheek!” Nan snapped, hitting Pyp square in the chest with her ladle. She turned and appraised the giant wolf, her eyes narrowing, although kindly. “He’s a loyal one,” she decided, moving her scrutiny on to Jon. “This one is too… although he ain’t found anyone or anythin’ to be loyal towards in a long, long time… ‘cept your wolf here, o’ course.” Jon cocked his head, not sure what to make of her proclamation.

The woman came nearer, her knowing eyes skimming over his face as if reading a passage of text from beneath his skin. Jon felt a little uneasy, but Nan seemed to be mightily pleased with what she could deduce from him. A grin bloomed upon her thin lips. “Oh yes,” she muttered to herself before reaching up and cupping his cheeks in her soft, and yet age-worn hands, “ _you,_ my dear boy, must be fed. You’ll need to keep your strength up!” Nan pat at the side of his face as she laughed to no-one but herself with a throaty, bawdy kind of chuckle. “Yes, you’ll definitely need the energy.”

The old woman waddled away towards a small canvas tent. Jon looked to Pyp and Grenn. “What was all that about?”

Grenn rolled his eyes. “You get used to it.”

“Old Nan’s part of the sideshow,” Pyp explained, “she… sees things… tells people their fates and whatnot.”

“A fortune teller?”

“I can sense misfortunes too,” Nan waddled back to them with a full tin bowl in one, hunk of bread in the other. “What did you say your name was?”

“I didn’t.”

“Well?”

Jon’s lips twitched. “Don’t you already know?”

Old Nan snorted. “Don’t you be cheekin’ me like the rest of ‘em. It doesn’t work like that.” Jon pressed his lips together, a little amused at her mock display of irritation. She liked being teased somewhat. He figured it to be so by the upward tilt of her mouth and the cheeky twinkle in her eye. “Well?... Don’t make me get my ladle! I’m not above clanging any of you over the head with my stupid crystal ball neither.”

“Don’t you need that?” Jon asks, finding it very hard to suppress his grin now.

Nan waved him off with the hand holding the bread. “All staging. I don’t need the raven skull nor the decorative scarves either. I see what I see.” She set the food down on one of the tables and pulled out a spoon from the large front pocket of her apron. Handing the item to Jon, Nan then gestured towards the bowl that looked to be filled with some kind of stew. “Well,” she said, “go on then. Eat… _Mr Snow_.”

Jon paused midway to taking his seat, his head snapping away from the inviting looking bowl of steaming food and towards the chuckling old woman. “How did you –?”

She reached over and pinched his cheeks, not bothering to answer before wandering back into the cook tent.

“She can be scary like that sometimes,” Pyp offered clapping Jon on the back when he practically fell onto the bench seating. “Hey, Nan!” he called after the woman, “Where’s ours?!”

***

After Jon scoffed his food, shovelling the stew into his mouth with gusto and draining the last drop from the bowl, Ghost laid on the grass beside him, gnawing on the remnants of a goat leg that Old Nan spared for his friend, he wiped at his mouth with the back of his hand as a gaggle of girls in plain cotton day dresses walked by. A redhead turned. Taking notice of him looking. She grinned and bit at her lip. Her hair was a little darker than Sansa Stark’s had been. It didn’t catch the light in the same way.

“Don’t” Pyp advised.

“Don’t what?”

“Don’t let her get her claws into you,” he pointed his spoon at Jon, “she’ll smile sweetly at you with that red lipstick smile, invite you back to the dancer’s train car and that’ll be it; you’ll be out of pocket till yer next payday.”

“Dancer’s?” Jon asked.

Grenn finally lifted his head from his own bowl of stew to glance behind him to take notice of the girls now leaving, “Ros,” he informed him, “she’s a performer but she turns tricks on the side sometimes too. Best not to get involved. There’s plenty of lasses who come to the shows that you can charm if yer wantin’ company. If not, stick to your hand ‘cause she will drain your coin as well as your-“

“Grenn!” Old Nan called out from where she stood in the entrance of the cook tent, hands firmly on her hips. “Come an’ help me lift the pot. It’s too heavy for my old bones.”

“He doesn’t get as much luck with the girls as he lets on, ya know,” Pyp leans forward to tell him as his friend disappears into the cook tent. He tears off a chunk of bread with his teeth and talks through his chewing too. “ _And_ he’s visited Ros a time or two. Reckon he will again once we next get paid.”

Jon said nothing but could feel his cheeks heat a little. He’d like to get away from this topic having never been with a girl past what some might call heavy petting. Val had been pretty keen on him taking things further, but Jon wasn’t about to put a bastard in her belly, and he didn’t think she was the right girl for him to get hitched to neither. Besides, what could he offer a girl? A drifter with nothing to his name ‘cept a direwolf. And even Ghost could take off an’ leave him if he wanted. No. If Jon was to take a wife then it wouldn’t be right to force her to live the life he’s used to. He’d have to accept his father… and Jon wasn’t about to do that for any amount of pretty kisses from pretty lips… or pretty blue eyes and gorgeous coppery-red hair that shone brilliantly in the rays of the sun.

No. _Definitely not._ It would certainly take something mightily drastic for Jon to relent on him shutting his father out of his life like he has.

Not that Rhaegar hasn’t tried. But as far as Jon’s concerned, the haughty Lord of Dragonstone severed any ties with him when he strayed from his marriage and knocked up Jon’s mother to then later refuse Lyanna Snow any financial aid in raising their son. Rhaegar had not acknowledged Jon until the untimely deaths of his wife and two children. The way Jon sees it, he’s only now interested in claiming him as his own due to a glimpse of his own fragility. In short, Lord Targaryen wants an heir.

But if Jon and his mother weren’t good enough for the pompous fool when he had everything, then he can rot along with his fortune and mansion. Jon wants none of it.

His mother died when Jon was at the tender age of 15, and he’s been drifting here and there ever since. His wolf found him one night when he was sleeping rough in an oak coppice somewhere up north. The little white pup had appeared as if from nowhere and snuggled right into him for warmth and hardly left his side in all these years.

Jon looks to Ghost and drops a hand to scratch at his buddy’s ear before an old Model TT Ford truck rumbled past them on its way towards the stripes of the big top. On the bed of the truck was some kind of motorised generator.

“For the lights,” Pyp commented when he saw Jon looking.

“You have electricity here?”

Pyp nodded, mopping up the remnants of his stew with his bread. “After the fire took Stark’s parents and a bunch of other folks, he insisted on it. Gas lamps started it. He wasn’t gonna risk that again.”

 _Sounds awful_ , Jon thought, not sure what good his condolences would do anyone, so he stayed quiet and watched the generator get driven up to, and around the back of the large marquee.

***

Pyp and Grenn were good tour guides as it goes. Jon got to see all kinds of sights around the grounds, from the musical calliope organ, the brightest, whitest, finest horses he’d ever clapped eyes on, a pack of performing dogs, a few small fairground rides and The Stark Family Circus’ very own locomotive, stationed at a side track that ran along the bottom edge of the field site. Pyp told him that the end of the track led to an old flour mill and that the owner of the land was just glad to be getting some use out of it while they were there.

The part of the site not open to the public was sectioned off into different areas, he was told. The equipment, the animals, the circus hands, the performers, and the Stark family themselves.

“And _this_ ,” Pyp swept a hand across the train car in front of him, “is our humble abode. All us general lackeys in one car.” Jon wrinkled his nose. “It’s chocked full of bunks,” Pyp continued, “gets a bit cramped but when the weather is fine some prefer to sleep outdoors anyway so there’s more room on summer nights.” He stopped to side-eye Ghost. “He’ll be in a crate, right?”

“Ghost stays with me.”

Grenn shook his head and kicked at a stone. “I ain’t sharin’ with no wolf.”

“It’s no bother,” Jon replied, “we’ll sleep outside.” He’s used to it, and as long as it doesn’t rain, he might prefer being under the sky anyhow. It was Jon’s turn to kick at the dirt then. He’d been trying to figure a way to steer the conversation towards what had been at the forefront of his mind all day, to no avail. “So,” he started, “Miss Stark said somethin’ about rehearsals?”

Pyp and Grenn exchanged a knowing grin before bidding him to follow.

***

The big top was dark as they entered. Rows of empty staged seating surrounded three rings lined with sand. They each took a seat at the front row, Ghost staying in the aisle.

“Sansa, are you in position?” came the disembodied voice of Robb Stark. Jon shifted in his seat.

“Yes.”

“Alright. Lights!”

A spotlight clunked on noisily to illuminate Miss Sansa Stark perched inside a hoop suspended high above, her costume glittering so brightly it was almost dazzling. Jon held his breath. Her legs were poised to the side, an easy smile was on her face as if she were born to be up in the air like that, free as a bird, no care for any kind of fall or the stresses of mere mortals here down on the ground.

Then she began to _sing._

_Linger in my arms a little longer, baby  
Don't think twice_

Jon’s mouth went slack. It was the sweetest, most sultry sound to have ever met his ears. It seeped into his being, right down to the marrow in his bones, coating his insides and licking at his nerves.

  
_While my love for you is growing stronger, baby_  
T'ain't right  
To say goodnight

Miss Stark switched position on her slowly spinning  hoop, her elegantly bent legs now pointing the opposite direction while she pouted as though she really were singing to a lover. The hairs on Jon’s forearms stood to attention.

 __  
Though it may be getting past your dreamtime, baby  
Don't think twice

He couldn’t tear his eyes from her up there in her perch, little cream-coloured twinkly leotard on, winking at him in the spotlight. He felt calmed and inflamed all at once. What kind of heavenly creature was she? He was captivated.

  
_Just linger in my arms a little longer, baby_  
Cause it's so nice  
It's ooh so nice.

As soon as the final torturously beautiful note left her lips, the whole marquee erupted with a bang of light and noise as Miss Stark practically leapt from her hoop. Jon’s heart was in his mouth whilst his eyes tried desperately to catch up with what was going on. She fell, fell, fell until her hands caught onto a trapeze, and quite suddenly she was swinging over the three performance rings. Jon’s pulse vibrated as everything seemed like it had slowed in motion. He could be standing up now, he’s not sure, all he knows is that Miss Stark is swinging back across his vision hooked onto the trapeze using only one leg curled over herself as she dangles below the thing, bent right round in such a supple way it made Jon’s own back ache just to see it.

He had not noticed the band who were now playing an up-tempo kind of tune. To be fair, he’d not noticed a whole lot the very second Sansa Stark had been framed by the spotlight. There were other things going on below her in the rings; horses trotting and jugglers of some sort as well as dancers too, but Jon only had eyes for the graceful aerial enchantress swinging back and forth until she launched herself off yet again, making Jon’s stomach swoop. This time, she caught a thick rope and twirled one leg around it to create an anchor before dropping upside-down and spinning slowly around while her arms were outstretched. Jon swallowed.

“Alright, we ready?” came Robb Stark’s voice, making Jon suddenly aware that the man was in the centre of the middle ring wearing a vibrant red tailcoat with shiny gold buttons. He pointed his cane at a woman who was leading a beautiful grey horse on a long tether. The animal trotting round and round one of the rings with the woman in the middle with a long whip in her hand. “Like we planned, Sansa!” Robb shouted, “count yourself in. 1,2,3,4,1,2,3,4…”

Jon looked to Miss Stark again who suddenly had the rope wrapped around her middle as she was still suspended in mid-air. Jon’s not sure how she does it. That kind of thing would rattle his nerves.

Before he has a chance to think on it more, the coil of rope is unravelling from around Miss Stark’s waist and she’s spinning, spinning, spinning sideways towards the ground. Jon really is stood up now and about to leap across the ring, when he sees her jerk to a stop around 7 or 8 feet from the ground and then extend her legs to land on the back of the approaching silver mare now cantering right beneath her. She lets go of the rope and stretches out her arms to her sides as the horse continues its route with a new spectacular passenger stood up tall on its back.

Jon falls back down into his seat, not sure what to think of it all. He’s never seen anything like it.

“She’s good, ain’t she?” Pyp leans over and murmurs as they continue to watch the rehearsal. Jon only nods. What can he possibly say after witnessing that? “Best put your tongue back in your mouth though, boss is coming.”

Jon blinks away from where Miss Stark is now sat astride the horse, no longer rehearsing, but leant forwards, brushing at its neck and whispering something in its ear as the animal begins to slow.

“Jon!” Robb Stark grins, although he’s looking at Ghost. “How do you think he’d fare under the lights?”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you to all those leaving encouraging comments! We both really appreciate them. Vivi and i plan on updating every Monday and Thursday for as long as we have chapters to post (we've currently already written 14).


	6. Chapter 6

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sansa introduces Jon to Arya and is forced to entertain Lord Baelish. Robb tells her some upsetting news and she seeks out Jon in hopes of convincing him to allow Ghost to join her act.

* * *

 

She could not see him with the lights in her eyes but she’d spied him coming in with two of the hands before she began. She pretended she was singing to him as she performed. She’d never felt half so sultry in her life as she imagined those dark grey eyes watching her intently. She _hoped_ he was watching her intently.

Lady was well trained and held up her end of the performance with her usual agility and decorum.

“You’re my best girl, aren’t you?” Sansa murmured as she patted her mare affectionately. “Who wants a sugar cube?”

Sansa slid off her back and reached into the small pouch sewn into her leotard, producing the promised treat. Lady whickered graciously and nimbly took it from her outstretched hand.

Robb had already gone over to talk to Jon Snow. She could see the way he shifted uneasily as her brother pointed towards the direwolf.

_He’s certainly not sold on the notion. Perhaps a bit of feminine finesse might help._

Sansa squared her shoulders and walked over to the men. Pyp gave her a grin and shuffled off after Grenn, leaving just Robb and Jon talking with Ghost sitting obediently by Jon’s side.

“Well, what’d you think?” she asked with an assurance she didn’t entirely feel as she approached.

Jon only blinked at her in response. Had her act left him speechless or completely unmoved? Gods, she hoped it was the former.

“You were, um…very…”

“You were terrific as always, Sansa,” Robb said breezily.

She loved her brother but she really could have kicked him then. She wanted to hear what Jon thought. She batted her eyes at Robb. Only he would notice the way they also narrowed dangerously.

“Robb? Would you be an excellent big brother and ask Jory to check my rig? It felt a bit off at first.” _Let me see if I can’t work a little magic here, brother_.

Robb’s grin became a smirk. “Of course. I can’t have my sister’s perch coming loose in the middle of her performance.”

She watched her brother striding away, hollering at Jory Cassel to help him and turned back to find Jon studying her costume. “They’re not real jewels. It’s mostly metal spangles and bits of coloured glass, if that’s what you’re wondering.”

“I wasn’t, uh…that was…it’s very sparkly.” He grimaced and rolled his eyes. She giggled merrily though. She’d rather hoped he might be looking at her costume for other reasons. Her laughter seemed to put him at ease. “Your brother might be used to your performances but I’m not. You were nothing short of radiant up there, Miss Sansa.”

 _Radiant? There’s that blasted flitter-flutter again_ , she thought, her pulse jumping at his words spoken in that low, husky voice of his.

“Just Sansa, please. We’re a family here, Jon.”

She knelt to pet Ghost and was pleased when she received a friendly lick. She wondered what Jon might think of that.

But when she glanced up at him she saw his brow was furrowed. Sansa wondered if she might have unintentionally raised a sore subject with the word family. _Or a painful one_. The poor man hadn’t even been here a full day. She wouldn’t plague him with questions yet but it made her curious. Why was Jon off on his own with just a direwolf for company? Why exactly was he willing to join their little circus?

 _Our handsome drifter has a story of his own to tell, I’d wager. Perhaps it’s no happier than ours_.

“Did Ghost seem to mind the activity?” she asked, giving Ghost an affectionate pat just as she had Lady. _I know we could be great friends,_ she thought.

The direwolf panted in response.

“I’ve never seen Ghost take to a stranger so easy,” Jon replied with a touch of wonder.

“Well, perhaps it’s us that take to him.”

“That’s true,” he said with a warm smile that had her grinning like a silly goose at him. “But most folks…well, Ghost ain’t always so welcome ‘round most folks.”

“We’re not most folks. We stick together since there’s plenty of folks who aren’t so welcoming of circus folk. Overall though, we’re a rather accepting bunch,” Sansa laughed as a new friend approached wishing to make Ghost’s acquaintance. “See what I mean?”

The black, one-eared tomcat was technically a stray which had been with them since Starfall. _Or was it Sandstone?_

Either way, the curious cat had joined their troupe and unofficially decided her sister Arya was trustworthy enough to give him a bowl of milk upon occasion.

And now, he walked right up to the enormous wolf who could eat him in one bite and curled up next to him, deciding Ghost might provide a safe place to take a nap.

“There you are, you black-hearted bastard!” that very same sister shouted from nearby. “Oi! Is that bloody beast going to eat my cat?”

“Arya,” Sansa groaned.

Her little sister sometimes had a talent for making unwelcome appearances. To be fair, Sansa ordinarily wouldn't have minded her sister meeting him but Jon had jumped at the shout and the epithet just as Sansa thought she might have been putting him at ease again. Surely, it wasn’t that she wanted to keep Jon all to herself, was it?

“Jon Snow, this is my sister Arya Stark. Arya, this is Jon Snow, a new member of our circus, and this is Ghost.”

“Saw you earlier,” Arya said with a scowl at Jon as she rubbed at her nose. “He’s nearly as big as a horse,” she added with a nod at Ghost.

“Pleased to meet you, miss.”

She cracked a smile. “Oh, he’s polite.”

“Yes, it really is a skill you should look into more often,” Sansa said dryly.

She caught Jon’s smirk as Arya stuck out her hand. “Pleased to meet you as well, Jon. I’m an Impalement Artist.”

“A what?”

“Arya…” Sansa cautioned.

“A knife thrower.” She immediately pulled out one of her daggers to twirl. Her sister couldn’t seem to resist showing off. Jon’s jaw dropped as Arya tossed it up in the air and caught it behind her back. “Is he going to eat my cat?”

“Oh, no! I don’t think Ghost would care for ‘em. Might upset his digestion. But Impalement Artists though…well, I couldn’t say.”

Arya’s eyes widened incredulously just as did Sansa’s until they spied his sly grin. The three of them shared a laugh. “Oh, I like him,” Arya said.

_I do as well._

“I reckon’ if you’re not throwing knives at me or Ghost, he won’t be wanting to eat you.”

"That’s a deal. You hungry? It’s nearly dinner,” Arya offered.

“I ate earlier.” His belly rumbled loudly in disagreement though and he gave them both a sheepish shrug.

 _No one’s been taking care of you for a while now_ , Sansa thought sadly. It made her eager to get to know him better. “Nan’s making kidney pies for supper. They’re quite good. Won’t you join us?” she asked politely to make it seem as if he’d be doing them a favour to eat.

“I’m afraid you’ll be missing out on Nan’s pies, Sansa. Littlefinger is looking for you, mentioned dinner.”

She tried to hide her grimace and figured she’d failed by Jon’s curious expression. “Don’t call him that name, Arya. You know he doesn’t like it.”

“I didn’t say it to his face!”

“But I know you would.”

She wanted to go to the chow tent with Jon and Arya but Lord Baelish mustn’t be ignored. She’d refused his advances last night and his gift this morning. She’d only push her luck so far.

She looked over her shoulder and spotted the man himself heading her way. Ghost growled, soft but menacing as he approached.

 _I couldn’t agree more, boy._ “Enjoy your dinner,” she said reluctantly as she turned to leave the pair of them.

Arya was already chattering away to Jon as they walked the opposite direction with Ghost and the cat at their heels. Once Arya decided she liked someone, she’d be their closest companion. Sansa was keenly jealous of her little sister in that moment.

But when she greeted Lord Baelish with a plastered on smile, she noticed Jon was glancing over his shoulder at her as he followed Arya. He was frowning and her heart sank. Would he be like some of the others and think the worst of her? Gods, she hoped not.

 

* * *

 

 

“That’s such a shame,” Sansa lied two hours later as Lord Baelish refilled her glass of wine in the train’s abandoned dining car. She had no intention of drinking any more of it while practically alone in his presence.

She’d made a point to change into a respectable grey dress before meeting with him. Perhaps it was a touch matronly for her age. She’d rather be eating with everyone else but he’d apparently arranged this private dinner for the two of them. _At least, he brings good news_.

“Yes, business draws me away though I am loath to part with you, sweetling.” Sansa’s skin crawled every time he used that endearment. “But I’ve arranged for a couple of performances for you between now and when we’re finally reunited in Kings Landing in a couple of months.”

_A couple of months without your company? That sounds delightful._

“Oh?”

“Yes. Ashford and Summerhall are your next stops after Highgarden. My acquaintances are eager to hear my little song bird sing.  I'll send word to you regarding when and where when it comes to it.” He took a final bite of his beef and wiped his mouth. “Who was the young man with the enormous wolf I saw earlier?”

“Just a new hand.”

“A handsome new hand,” he said with a knowing look.

“I suppose. Robb’s hoping to use the wolf in an act.” She kept her tone indifferent. She didn’t want to admit more than that, not knowing what Baelish might say or do.

“He seemed rather taken with you.”

“Did he? I didn’t notice.” _Did he?_ Her heart began to pound. She cleared her throat and took a sip to compose herself.

“Oh, yes. I could see it in his eyes. You can tell a lot about a man by studying his eyes, sweetling.”

“He’s just a drifter. He’ll probably be off looking for better prospects as soon as wages are handed out.”

“Perhaps so.” Without asking, he unexpectedly took her hand. “I worry for you so, Sansa. Men find sweet young things like you hard to resist. It troubles me to think of you here unprotected while I’m away.”

“Unprotected?” she scoffed. “I’m surrounded by my family.”

“Your elder brother is quite preoccupied. I could take you along with me to Kings Landing early and allow you to sample the delights of the capital while you dazzle the elite of…”

“Oh, I simply couldn’t leave my family and the show must go on. And what would anyone think, my lord? It would be quite improper for me to travel anywhere with you, no matter how thoughtful and kind your intentions are.”

“Yes, but…”

The man Lord Baelish had brought along to serve them appeared with a tray. “Oh, Lemoncakes!” she exclaimed, jerking her hand away. “My favourites!” Truth be told, she’d rather skip dessert and escape his company but at least he couldn’t hold her hand this way. _And lemoncakes are still lemoncakes_.

“Yes, I know.”

To her infinite relief, the train car door slid open and Rickon entered. She saw Baelish’s barely concealed snarl of frustration but was too grateful to her family for not abandoning her to care.

“Are you alright, Rickon?” she asked, knowing this ruse well by now.

“I can’t get to sleep,” he said in a frightened little voice. “Will you read me a story, Sansa?”

“Of course, my darling.” Sansa stuffed a lemoncake in her mouth. She rose with an apologetic look at Lord Baelish. “Forgive me, my lord. He suffers terrible nightmares since…” She trailed off, hoping the tears forming in her eyes were convincing enough.

“Yes, yes,” Baelish answered testily. “I’ll see you in Kings Landing soon enough.”

She curtsied…and grabbed two more lemoncakes before she ushered Rickon out of the car.

“Thank you,” she murmured as she handed one to her little brother.

“It’s humiliating, you know. I’m eleven.”

“I know…but thank you.”

Rickon gave her a sweet grin and ate his lemoncake in one bite. “Robb was wanting you.”

“Alright. Good night.”

She kissed him on his cheek before he scampered off to help Farlen with his dogs.

 

* * *

 

 

Sansa found Robb in his little office aboard. His red ringmaster’s jacket was hanging on the back of his chair and his hands were buried in his dark auburn curls when she entered.

“Are you alright?” she asked, touching his brow with concern. He worked too hard.

“I’m alright, my dear. Are you? I hate allowing him to be alone with you.”

“We weren’t completely alone.”

“Close enough,” he grumbled.

She sat down in the chair opposite his and decided to change the subject. “Will Ghost be part of my act?”

“I don’t know. Jon’s still worried about how he might handle the crowd but even more worried about letting you ride him. He said he couldn’t bear you getting hurt. He got rather mulish when I assured him you’d be fine and rarely ever fell.”

She was touched by his concern. “I tried talking to him earlier but Arya came along and then Baelish appeared.”

“I know,” Robb had said sourly. “He said he’d expect half the loan repaid when we reach Kings Landing.”

“What?! Half?! He didn’t mention anything to me!”

“No, I suppose not,” her brother said, turning away and dropping his elbows on his desk where the ledger sat wide open.

She knew there wasn’t so much as that and likely wouldn’t be by the time they reached the capital. He darted one glance her way though and Sansa was convinced of something in a heartbeat. He was hiding something. He was a charmer but also a horrible liar.

“Robb? What aren’t you telling me?”

“He came to see me earlier…never mind. We’ll find a way. If I can talk Jon into letting Ghost perform, I know we could really draw some good crowds and then maybe we’d have the money and he’ll leave you alone.”

“Robb,” she said again, a commanding tone.

“He suggested he could forgive the debt if…if I’d be willing to give my blessing.”

“Your blessing?” She felt sick at her stomach.

“For him to propose…to you.”

She shuddered and put a hand to her forehead. Bile was rising up her throat. She didn’t like it when he held her hand. She hated when he’d put his hand on the small of her back sometimes as he guided her through a soiree. The thoughts of him touching her beyond that…

Robb turned back toward her, standing and pulling her to her feet. He took her gently by the shoulders. “I promise, I promise you, Sansa…you’re never marrying him. We’ll find a way. I’ll fold the show before I let that happen.”

“Fold the show? Lose touch with everyone and cost them their livelihood? Oh, Robb…we can’t!”

“Yes, I can. It’s bad enough you putting up with him as it is and singing for his friends. I’m sorry for even telling you of it. I’m sorry for so much. Mother and Father would be ashamed of the way I’ve handled everything.”

“No, they wouldn’t, Robb,” she assured him. “You’ve kept us going, kept us together. Two months till we’re in Kings Landing. We’ll make it work…somehow.”

He embraced her and she said a prayer in her mind. _Please, gods…let us find a way without me having to marry that man. I’d do anything for our family but I really don’t want to do that._

“I’ll go and talk to Jon. Maybe I can convince him to let me try with Ghost tomorrow. He was impressed at how the wolf seemed to take to me.”

“Alright, my dear. Want me to come along? It’s getting late.”

“I’ll be alright. Jon’s not Baelish.”

“We just met him this morning.”

“I know but…I trust him.”

Robb nodded and hugged her tightly once more before she left to find Jon Snow.

 

* * *

 

 

Pyp had said Jon was going to sleep under the stars with his wolf for company. It was fine out this evening but she still shivered slightly at the thought. She worried he’d be chilled through. She also shivered in another way to think of ways she might warm him. Her cheeks flushed. What had gotten into her?

She’d searched the empty field where Pyp had vaguely pointed and nearly given up when she heard water splashing. On the other side of a hedge of wild rosebushes, she knew there was a small pond. The air was filled with the sweet, heady scent of roses and Sansa thought she’d like to pluck a few for her vanity.

Curious as to the cause of the splashes, she peeked around the hedge. The moon was full and it revealed quite a sight.

“Sweet Maiden,” she gasped.

Jon Snow was bathing in the pond. She could see broad shoulders and part of his back. He appeared to be naked from the waist up.

_Is he naked from the waist down?_

Her eyes darted to the water’s edge and spied his trousers and shirt before they were drawn like magnets back to him.

He disappeared under the water to wet his curls and then stood. She could see his drawers, hanging low on his hips. His backside was rather firm looking from what she could tell by the way the water was making the thin fabric cling to him.

_Oh, Mother Above…_

He had a sliver of soap in hand as he sank back into the water. He was humming to himself, humming the very same tune she’d sang at her rehearsal earlier…the one she’d pictured singing to him.

She crept a bit closer but stayed closer to the bushes. The muddy bank was slippery and she needed to watch her step.

 _Watch your step? What is the matter with you?_ she chastised herself. _You need to leave_.

Not only was she watching him without permission like some Peeping Tom, she was drawing nearer to get a better look.

_Sansa Stark…if you are even remotely a lady, you’ll turn around right now. You can speak to him in the morning. You can…_

She didn’t get to finish her thought. Ghost came bounding through the rosebush, heedless of the thorns, and gave her an affectionate head butt…which pushed her straight off the edge of the bank and into the pond below.

She squealed from the chilly water and stood to find dark grey eyes staring at her in bewilderment.

* * *

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I kept thinking of Madagascar 3 and Gia the Jaguar saying 'Circus stick together' while writing Sansa's talk of them being a family. I've seen that movie way too many times with my daughter. 
> 
> And, oh dear...I left Amy with a soaking wet Jon and Sansa and an awkward situation to resolve. Muwahahaha!


	7. Chapter 7

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Anyone order a bucket load of romantic clichés?

Pyp had said it was a wash day for the circus hands tomorrow - that after dinner, they would all trek across the field to the nearby pond, or in the other direction to a little stream to wash the grime of labour and toil from their skin. But Jon felt the need to bathe sooner than that. He could still smell the scent of the poultry coups he and Ghost were working just a day ago.

_And you don’t want her to think you an unwashed beggarman neither._

He told his thoughts to hush up, even as part of him knew he’d most likely not be too bothered about all this if it weren’t for Miss Sansa.

Besides, the night was fine and Ghost was in need of stretching his legs, so they had headed in the direction of where Pyp had told him the pond lay, before he would hunker down under the coarse woven blanket Grenn had spared him.

The moon was fat and round as he came upon the body of water, partially hidden by some wild rosebushes. Ghost had wandered off, most likely having caught the scent of a rabbit or a fowl of some kind. The pond looked like black glass, still and peaceful while Jon shucked his clothes, keeping on his drawers and fishing out the small slither of soap from his pocket. The ripples broke the reflection of the moon as he waded deeper into the chilled water. He hoped there were no water-dwelling critters around, as his thighs, buttocks, and then waist were submerged.

With his mind recounting the strange day just past, Jon couldn’t help but feel a little in awe at how one’s luck can turn on a dragon coin. Just this morning he and Ghost were being kicked out of the barn they’d called home, and now he’s gone and joined a circus troupe. He grinned ruefully down at the water as he lathered up his arms and chest. _What would daddy think of his little bastard now, hmm?_ It didn’t matter, they may each be the only piece of family the other has left, but Jon’s quite sure that he’ll do almost anything to stay well clear of Rhaegar Targaryen and his money.

He remembered the last time they’d crossed paths; Lord Targaryen had sought him out when he’d got himself a job at an arable farm, picking crops, baling hay – that kind of thing. The man had promised him that very same moon that shone down upon him now – with the condition that Jon let him groom his bastard son into an upstanding member of society. Basically, Rhaegar was willing to name Jon his heir as long as he wasn’t so… well… _himself._

Jon had told him where to shove his money. He can’t quite believe that that pompous ass actually _is_ his family.

 _Family._ Jon’s lips twitched into a small smile as he mulled over the word. His mother was the only family he’d ever known, but Miss Sansa had called this little circus troupe a family, and Jon supposes it is, of sorts. He certainly likes the idea, anyhow. Pyp and Grenn were stand up guys, Old Nan definitely has a warm way about her (even if he’s a little spooked by her supposed abilities). Robb Stark is the kind of guy who has bucket-loads of charm that Jon just can’t help but like him – even if he secretly wants to hate the man for it... just a little bit. The younger sister, Arya – _boy,_ she was a livewire! Bags of fun, and a wicked sense of humour to boot. She told him that there’s two younger Stark brothers too, but Jon hadn’t had the pleasure of meeting them just yet.

And then there was Sansa.

Jon’s teeth sunk into his bottom lip as his hands slipped under the waistband of his drawers, telling himself the activity was for bathing purposes only – even as he felt his cock begin to warm and harden in his hand.

 _Seven Hells!_ _She is somethin’ else. Somethin’ else entirely._

He had held his breath watching her up there, dancing in the air like she were born to do it, with no care for a fall, as if she had a secret pair of feathered wings tucked all up in that little glitzy leotard of hers. Wings that could unfurl at any given moment. To be fair, she stole the breath from his lungs with both her feet on solid ground too, what with those piercing blue eyes and mile long legs. She was kind too. She’d caught him looking, no doubt about that, but she hadn’t reprimanded him any. He hadn’t meant to gawp. He should be more careful about that.

She even giggled.

His hand stroked up and down his length and now he really couldn’t claim that he were doing anything but seeing to his own sinful needs. He’ll have to stop, or before long he’ll meet his own agony of bliss over thoughts of Miss Sansa, and that didn’t feel quite right. Her family have taken him in, given him a job and been nothing but cordial, and here he is with his cock in his hand at the first opportunity.

Jon ducked beneath the water to wet his hair and hopefully wash the impure thoughts from his salacious mind. _Just do what you gotta do to be useful and get by. Don’t be thinkin’ them kind of thoughts, gettin’ above your station an’ whatnot. She may be nice to you, but that don’t mean nothin’. You’re here to work, not drool over the boss’ pretty sister._

He couldn’t help the smile that spread across his face though. She was more than just pretty – and that voice! Jon began to hum the tune of the song she sung for him.

_For you? It weren’t for you. **She’s** not for you._

And with that, there was a yelp and splash behind him. Jon spun around, wide eyed and ready to throw some punches if he needed too – even if he was almost naked and clutching on to his soap.

As if conjured by his thoughts, Jon watched Miss Sansa emerge from the water, spluttering and wet through. She wasn’t wearing that little leotard no more, but her dress was soaked and clinging to her frame. A tendril of her hair, darker now in the pale moonlight, crept around the opal skin of her elegant neck.

She looked horrified, and Jon suddenly realised that he wore nothing but his wet drawers… and that he was still half hard. He ducked under the water at the same time as Miss Sansa stuttered out an apology.

“That’s alright,” he answered, “I just didn’t expect anyone to-“

“No, no,” she interrupted, shaking her head a little frantically and then clearing her throat before ploughing on in a rushed voice. “I was just picking some roses for my vanity when Ghost came upon me and sort of… nudged me into the water. I didn’t mean to…”

She was lookin’ at him oddly then. Licking her pretty lips nervously and eyeing his body as it stayed hidden beneath the water. “I wasn’t trying to impose,” she finished, looking like she was attempting to compose herself.

“I’m sorry ‘bout Ghost,” he told her, giving the happy panting beast the stink-eye where he sat atop the bank. “That wasn’t very… ah… _gentlemanly_ of him.”

She swallowed timidly but her mouth twitched into a brief smile. The water came up to where he supposed her thighs must be under them sodden skirts and she looked frightfully abashed standing there, her cheeks aglow with a darkening hue.

“Your dress is ruined,” he said, rather unhelpfully.

_Well, that’s obvious. Idiot._

She had a dirt stain from where she’d slid down the bank all up one arm and a little on the side of her face too.

“It’s…um… it’s not long until wash day…I’m sure this’ll come right out,” she said, dazedly staring down at her mud-caked sleeve.

“There’s… there’s a bit on your cheek too.”

Jon heard a sharp inhale before she bent to frantically scoop up some pondwater and rub over her face.

“Is it gone?” she asked. Jon shook his head and she tried again.

“You’re kinda just… smearing it around.”

She gave him an almighty pleading look then, a very exaggerated picture of a damsel in distress, which somehow made him snicker.

“You never gotten dirty before, Miss Sansa?” he teased.

Sansa made a little whining sound that ended on a defeated chuckle. “Don’t laugh, Jon Snow!” she reprimanded. Although there was a twinkle in her eye that Jon reckoned meant she weren’t too serious about it. “I can’t walk back to camp with dirt all over my face!”

“Your dress is soaked through. I’m not sure anyone would notice the mud.”

She huffed and rolled her eyes but bit her lip to contain a smile. “You’re not helping.”

“Do you want my help?” he asked.

Her eyes fell down to the water as she twiddled with her fingers and croaked out a reply. “Yes. Yes, please.”

Jon began to rise, but then realised once again that he was in a most improper state of undress. He quickly cupped himself over his drawers. “Uh… Miss Sansa?” he prompted, inclining his head to where the water reached his waist “can I ask you not to look?”

“Oh!” she squeaked, her eyes flying up to the moonlit sky. “Of course! I-I won’t look.”

“Can I ask you not to tell your brother anythin’ ‘bout this neither?” he swallowed as he waded closer to where she stood. “Reckon he’d have my guts for garters if he knew.”

“You haven’t done anything wrong,” she said to the night above them as she waited for Jon to near.

“Aye. You tell him that.”

He couldn’t clearly see her with her face turned up to the sky so Jon asked her to look at him, hoping that she couldn’t tell that his heartbeat was thundering in his chest when she locked her eyes on his.

Still cupping his manhood, Jon bent to wet his hand and then tentatively lifted it to the mud smear on her cheek. “May I?” he gulped, watching her own throat bob with a swallow.

“You may,” Miss Sansa whispered.

Her skin was soft despite the damp and the chill from the pond. He gently brushed the pads of his fingers over the apple of her cheek and down to her jaw. He may have done so one more time than was strictly necessary to get her clean, but Jon told himself he was just being thorough. Sansa watched him throughout, making him bite down on his lip.

“There’s some here,” he told her hoarsely, softly brushing her collarbone. “Is it alright if I…” Sansa nodded to tell him to go ahead so he bent to wet his hand again and saw to the dirt that was now diluted with pondwater and dripping down to bleed into her sodden dress.

“Thank you, Jon,” she told him. He could’ve sworn they were both holding their breath right then but Ghost made a snorting noise that broke the spell.

“We should get out,” he said, looking back to the middle of the pond where he had been washing. “I left my soap,” he realised out loud.

“I’ll give you some,” Sansa said, “it’s too dark, you’ll never find yours now.”

“Oh I couldn’t-“

“Nonsense,” she dismissed with a smile, “I have many. It’s one of the few things I like to make sure I have.” Jon offered his arm for Sansa to steady herself as they both walked from the water to the bank. She gripped him tight when she almost slipped one time. He couldn’t help but like that… just a little bit. “I actually like to try to get a soap from each place we stop at,” she continued, talking fast now. “It sounds silly, I know, but I like the different scents. My mother had a huge collection of oils and perfumes that Father would make sure to get for her from nearly every corner of the country we travelled to. We lost them in the fire and can’t quite afford for me to replenish them so…soaps it is!” she laughed nervously before quieting. “Sorry, I… you don’t need to know all that.”

“No, I… I think it’s a nice thing to do,” Jon said, wincing internally at his answer. “I bet you always smell nice.”

 _Well done. Idiot._ He grimaced to himself. _Just shut up before you embarrass yourself even more!_

“Well, now I smell like pondwater,” Sansa chuckled, making him smile. “I think I’ve got just the soap for you,” she declared. “The last time we did a northern tour, I picked up a bergamot and pine soap from Winterfell. I think you’ll like it.”

“I’m sure I will,” Jon answered, noticing a shiver run through her body as she stood there in her wet dress. The night was just this side of warm, but the water had been chilly under the moonlight. Miss Sansa may catch her death if she stays too long in those wet clothes. “I think you should take your dress off,” he commented.

“Excuse me?!” Sansa clutched her chest and took a step back from him.

Jon’s eyes widened, and he raised his hands once he’d realised how that had sounded. “Shit. I didn’t mean nothin’ by it!” _And now you’ve gone an’ cussed in front of her too, knucklehead_! “I only meant that you’re cold. You’ll catch a fever or something if you stay in those wet clothes.”

“Well, you’re in wet clothes,” Sansa countered, her hand indicating to his sodden drawers, her eyes following with it. She made a little yelping sound once she realised that Jon was no longer shielding himself from her view and that the cotton barrier may as well be non-existent. Her hands covered her wide eyes just as Jon swiftly moved both hands to cover his crotch. “I’m sorry!” she squeaked, “I didn’t mean to look!”

“Let’s just agree that that didn’t happen,” Jon flushed, “and that we’re still not telling your brother about any of this.”

“Deal!” Sansa shivered.

“And that you really should get out of that wet dress.”

Sansa lowered her hands and glared at him. “I can’t walk back to the site nude, Jon Snow.”

“I have an idea.”

***

It was a bad idea. Well, no. That’s not strictly true. The idea had stopped Sansa shivering… but now, with her walking beside him wearing only his dry shirt that hung down to the middle of her thighs, Jon felt all aflame like a young lad catching his first glimpse of a pretty girl. They talked as they made their way through the long grass and he tried not to make too much of a fool of himself. Ghost was the other side of Sansa, apparently deciding he liked her company some. _You and me both, buddy._

Jon had volunteered to carry their wet clothes, slung over his arm. He had his drawers, her dress and some kind of undergarment of hers that had straps and sheer fabric. He thinks it might be used to hold up her stockings… of which he was also carrying. If Miss Sansa wore a corset and bloomers, then he doesn’t think she handed them to him and was most likely still wearing the undergarments… or… she’s completely bare beneath his shirt. He cleared his throat at the thought.

_What do you know about what ladies got under their clothes anyhow?_

He looked ahead at the circus site, a few candles and lanterns burning here and there, and the light spilling from the train car windows. Sansa had told him that hers was the second car along, the first being Robb Stark’s. Hers was followed by the younger Stark’s carriage. She’d rolled her eyes playfully when she recounted how her and Arya had meant to share, but her younger sister had refused to put up with her girlish décor and fripperies and decided to bunk with Bran and Rickon instead.

Creeping along the outer edge, they were mindful of not letting anyone see them in their current state; him wearing nothing but his trousers and boots, her with wet hair and bare legs and feet. Gods know what folk’ll make of it.

They got real close to one train carriage, he wasn’t sure which, but quickly confirmed that it must be where the dancers slept, since he could clearly hear Grenn’s voice through the open window above their heads.

“C’mon Ros, I’ll pay you double next time. Stark’s handing out the wages next week – gimme a break!”

Jon felt heat in his cheeks. He knew what they were talkin’ of.

“You’ll pay triple next time for my trouble,” a woman’s voice replied, “don’t think I’ll let you off just because you’re a swell guy, Grenn Stanley. I don’t do freebies.”

“C’mon,” Jon whispered, wanting to get away from all that.

They snuck around, sticking to shadows and finally made it to Sansa’s car. She slid open the door and disappeared inside…promptly followed by Ghost.

“Hey! Come back here, you daft animal!” His wolf completely ignored him. Jon poked his head through the doorway to see the beast take up almost half the floorspace that Miss Sansa had in her car. She giggled and scratched at his ears. Ghost panted in reply and started nosing at the bottles, baubles and doodads she had on her vanity. “Ghost!” he hissed just as the blasted animal knocked a small vial of something or other onto the floor with a smash. “Ghost! Stop it! _Come here!”_

“It’s alright,” Sansa smiled, seemingly unable to stop herself from stroking the wolf.

“I’m real sorry about your… thing,” Jon gestured to the shattered glass on the floor.

Sansa shrugged. “I was going to give it to the showgirls anyway… Lord Baelish gave it to me.”

Jon blinked at her and nodded. He didn’t like the cut of that man from first sight. There was something fishy ‘bout him, and he especially didn’t like that Sansa apparently spends a lot of time with the lord. Arya had said something about keeping him sweet… Jon hadn’t liked the sound of that neither.

“Ghost, come on,” he tried once more, “leave Miss Sansa alone.”

“He can stay,” she smiled, her eyes twinkling in the dim light of her train car. _Gods above!_ She looked a vision there with her hair all askew and wearing nothin’ but his shirt. Jon shifted a bit on his feet.

“I don’t like the thought of-“

“He wouldn’t hurt me.”

“He’s a wild animal.”

“You sleep with him,” Sansa reasoned.

“Yeah… but that’s d-“

“Does that make _you_ wild too?” she smirked.

Jon snickered and pushed his hand through his mop of hair. “I guess you could say that.”

He watched as she bit on her lip and absentmindedly began walking her fingers across her vanity. “Wages will be handed out next week,” she told him, “any plans for yours?”

“I... well… I guess I should find myself a barber’s. I could do with a bit of neatenin’ up,” Jon mused suddenly very conscious of his straggly beard and unkempt hair.

“I could do that for you,” she said, her cheeks turning rosy, “if you want.” Why she suddenly looked all shy, Jon couldn’t say. “I cut all my sibling’s hair and trim Robb’s whiskers too, so I know what I’m doing.”

“I’m sure you do. Thank you, Miss –“

She held up a hand, cutting him off. “Just ‘Sansa’, please Jon.”

“Sansa,” he nodded, looking back to where Ghost currently had his head shoved right into her wardrobe. Jon groaned in frustration, Sansa laughed in delight.

“I’ll have to bond with him anyhow,” she said, getting to her knees on the floor and sinking her fingers into the thick fur of the wolf’s flank. “If we’re to be doing the show together.”

“ _If_ ,” Jon pointed out.

Sansa pouted at him then, and circled her arms around Ghost’s giant neck. “Oh, c’mon! He likes me!”

_Well, there’s no denying that._

Jon couldn’t help but laugh.

“I tell you what,” she said to him, even though she was still fussing with and looking at the wolf, “Ghost stays in here tonight with me, and you can sleep out there,” she tilted her head to the side of her train car, “just below my window. That way, you’ll hear if he starts eating me in the night.” Sansa raised a brow and grinned at him from her knelt position on the floor.

“I don’t know –“

“Please, Jon!” _Dear lord! She looks adorable,_ Jon thought. _How does anyone ever refuse this girl anything she pleases?_ “You can borrow one of my nice feather pillows and a soft blanket that I’ve knitted myself! I bet you wouldn’t get as much down at the hands’ train car.”

“No, I don’t s’pose I would,” he mused, scratching at his beard. _It does sound mighty temptin’._

A few moments later, Sansa had gotten her way, Jon had gotten his shirt back. He was currently tucked up with not one, not two, but three hand-knit blankets and a goose-feather pillow, right below Miss Sansa’s train car window. Laying on one blanket and using the others over him, Jon turned his head and pressed his nose into her pillow. It smelt of lavender and summer rains.

The last thing he remembers is listening to her in there cooing, fussing and singing for Ghost as he looked up to the sprinkling of stars above him. He tried really hard not to feel jealous of that dumb wolf.


	8. Chapter 8

* * *

 

_‘He'd fly through the air with the greatest of ease_

_A daring young man on the flying Trapeze_

_His movements were graceful, all girls he could please_

_And my love he purloined away…’_

Considering the mortifying turn the night had taken earlier, Sansa was blissfully happy at the moment as she readied for bed and sang to Ghost.

Admittedly, the direwolf was far too large to easily fit in her abode but she liked having him here. It would be wise for her and the wolf to do a bit of bonding if they were going to perform together. And if Lord Baelish was going to turn the screws on them financially, she really needed to convince Jon that her and Ghost could be a fantastic act.

However, there was another part of her that liked having the wolf in here because it brought his friend to mind so readily.

_Silly girl. Don’t be getting too many notions in your head._

But they were already there.

She fanned herself and tried to stop that line of thought right now. She used some of her favourite lavender soap to wash the stagnant pond water off her skin at her basin. It’s fragrance was rather welcome considering that, unlike his friend, Ghost had not bathed tonight.

Once she’d finished her ablutions, she turned the wick of her lamp down low and climbed into her bunk. “Ghost?” she whispered in the darkness.

She saw his great head rise from his paws and heard him panting.

“I feel I should confess to someone…I’m probably going to have some very unladylike dreams about Jon Snow tonight. Pray for me, will you?”

Ghost whimpered sympathetically and laid his head back down.

How could she help it? He’d been such a sight in nothing but his drawers, all those toned muscles on display to go along with that handsome face of his.

But he’d been a perfect gentleman, especially considering that she’d intruded on his solitude with her rose-picking story. Her cheeks flamed. She wasn’t entirely sure if it was shame or something else that was the cause. She hummed under her breath as her hands slid down under the soft cotton sheets.

When she woke the next morning, she found the blankets folded up on her step along with the pillow…and a half a dozen wild roses from the bush near the pond.

Ghost jumped out of the car past her to start his day.

Sansa carefully picked up the blankets, pillow and her precious gift. She took one rose, mindful of the thorns until she realized he’d even removed those ( _sweet, thoughtful_ _man_ ), and pressed it against her lips whilst breathing in the delightful fragrance. Her eyes started seeking the bearer. She soon spied him helping with the horse corral.

The sun was already warm and he was in his shirt sleeves like the other men, labouring away. But, as if she’d summoned with her thoughts like some siren, he turned her way. She smiled and gave him a nod of thanks. He tipped his cap in return and grinned at her before returning to his task.

Her heart was pounding twenty to a dozen as she went back inside to dress for her day.

 

* * *

 

 

“Sit still now,” she admonished Rickon as she picked up her shears that evening. The boys were freshly washed and it was a fine time for a trim, much to their chagrin. “And just where do you think you’re creeping off to, Brandon Stark? You’re next.”

“Aw, Sansa…”

She heard chuckling from the entrance of the small tent they used for the sideshow (and haircuts) and saw Jon and Ghost standing there. She hoped he wouldn’t notice how rosy her cheeks were growing but she was pleased he’d decided to take her up on her offer.

“Just in time,” she said merrily. “Boys, have you met Jon Snow?”

She made the introductions and Bran did his best to make some polite chit chat with Jon as she cut Rickon’s hair. “Brandon Stark, tightrope walker and occasionally Sansa’s trapeze partner,” Bran said proudly. “Are you going to let Ghost perform with her?”

“Uh, well…”

“Farlen’s training me up to be his assistant with the hounds,” Rickon interrupted, “and Arya says she’ll put me on her wheel if Robb agrees.”

“She will not!” Sansa squeaked. “Now, face forward again.” It was more difficult than usual to get a nice even cut since Rickon kept turning his head this way and that to watch Ghost as he trotted around the small staging tent they were using for this. “Rickon, please.”

“Listen to your sister,” Robb said as he entered the tent. He smiled uncertainly at her and Jon and rocked back and forth in his boots for a moment. “What brings you here, Jon?”

“Your, um…sister said…”

“I offered to cut his hair and give his beard a trim.” Robb raised his eyebrows. Ordinarily, the lads went to Tommy for this. “Tommy had such a queue already.”

“Right. Nan said she was able to get that stain out of your dress, Sansa. What in the name of the Mother happened to you last night after you left me?” He glanced back over his shoulder at Jon with curious expression.

“Oh, that,” she stammered. “Well, it was the, uh…I was having the most horrid luck removing it. I figured Nan would know something to use.” Her brother was still staring at her expectantly and Jon was studying his boots with an uncomfortable look. He’d ask that they not share any of what had happened with Robb. Sansa didn’t like keeping things from her big brother but, in this instance, she supposed Jon might have a valid point there. “I, uh…took a stumble and landed quite awkwardly in a mud puddle.”

“My trapeze flying sister fell in a puddle?” Robb asked with a smirk. Bran and Rickon started laughing. “It was dark and slippery,” she replied with a prim sniff before she stuck her tongue out at her little brothers for laughing. Both men laughed too then. Jon’s laugh was a deep bark. She fancied it. She fancied him.

Robb’s laughter died as he said, “Yes, Gage mentioned seeing you and Jon headed towards your car last night.  Said you were...unusually dressed.”

Jon’s eyes grew round as saucers and Sansa needed to think quickly lest Robb get the wrong impression.

 _Gage, that gossip!_ The head cook was always privy to the latest intel and always running his big mouth. Normally, she’d forgive him in an instant for the lemoncakes he made but he might’ve stirred a hornet’s nest here. If Robb thought one of the hands was behaving untoward towards his little sister, he’d send them packing in an instant, direwolf act be damned.

“Yes, Ghost and Jon happened upon me in my puddle. I believe I told you I was seeking him out to speak with him about our act. Jon was so very kind to help me up and even loaned me his shirt for cover. It was exceedingly chivalrous of him,” she finished with an encouraging smile for Jon. He blinked and some of the fear left his eyes. _I wouldn’t_ _betray your trust_. “Oh, by the way, Jon…after your trim, would you mind if I tried riding Ghost like we discussed?”

His grey eyes narrowed but she saw the flash of a sly smile.

 _Yes, I have you there, my dear man_.

_Dear man? Where did that come from?_

Robb’s customary smile reappeared. “You agreed then?” he asked Jon, clapping him on the back. “That’s fantastic! What an act they’ll make! You won’t regret it.”

Rickon wailed that if she was going to torture him with a haircut would she please get on with it and that brought the discussion to a close for the time being. As she busied herself trimming, Rickon and Bran asked several questions about Ghost and them some rather pointed questions of Jon.

_“Where’d you find him?”_

_“Does he eat cats?”_

_“Where’re you from?”_

_“Where’d you work last?”_

_“Are you on the run for some crime?”_

_“Have you ever seen a circus before?”_

_“Are your parents dead and gone like ours?”_

Sansa’s heart clenched painfully at the last question and her eyes met Robb’s, knowing how it hurt him as well. Rickon had been so young. They’d been his parents more or less since the accident.

“My mum died when I was fifteen,” Jon answered with his eyes back on his boots again. “My father’s…well, we don’t get on so well.”

Her heart ached yet again. _Poor sweet man._

“You’re done now, sweetheart,” she murmured to Rickon and the boy scampered off with a celebratory hoot.

Bran took his place with a groan and Robb rattled on about an act he wanted to catch while they were here.

“An escape artist…calls himself the Drowned God. Maybe he might be looking for a troupe to join if he’s tired of being on his own.”

“Have to be able to pay the hands and performers we already have, first,” Bran murmured. The shears stilled and the awkward silence made him realize he’d been overheard. Robb was scowling and poor Jon was back to studying those boots. They couldn’t possibly be that fascinating. Bran looked up at her apologetically with his bright blue eyes. She smiled lovingly in return. He should’ve kept that to himself, especially since Jon was here, but he didn’t mean to cause trouble. The last thing they needed was for some of the hands to start wondering if their pay would be coming though. Without them, they could never get the show up and going.

“I’m sorry. That was…”

“My hair’s alright for now,” Robb said gruffly. “I’ll have you see to it before the first show, Sansa.” But to take the sting from his departure, he dropped a kiss on her cheek and patted Bran’s shoulder as he left.

She finished Bran’s trim and he rose to go with a guilty look. “I’ll see you both later.”

“I’ll see you later.” She ruffled his hair even though he was taller than her now. “Don’t worry,” she whispered.

Bran left and Sansa gestured for Jon to take a seat on the wooden chair. She shook off the old sheet and then put it around his shoulders.

“I’d appreciate it if you wouldn’t mention what Bran said to anyone. I promise you’ll all be paid next week.” _At least we’ve enough to cover this month’s wages. As long as the show does well, we’ll have enough for the next. It’s what comes after that is troubling._

“I won’t say a thing,” he said solemnly, raising his grey eyes to meet hers.

“Thank you, Jon.” She reached into her pocket. She’d gone into town earlier with Arya and sold a couple of baubles Lord Baelish had gifted her with a while back which he’d refused to allow her to return. “I know you’ve not been with us but two days and I’m not sure what your circumstances were like before so if you needed a bit to see you through till…”

She felt his warm hand closing over hers. “No, Sansa. Three meals a day for me and Ghost and a place to lay our heads. It’s enough for now.”

“Alright.”

She picked up her shears and ran one hand through his curls, ostensibly to get an idea how much she needed to trim. In truth, she just longed to touch his hair. The curls were softer than she’d expected, dark and thick. She couldn’t bear to cut it too short.

“I’ll just neaten this up, shall I?”

He nodded and sat perfectly still as she began trimming. She hummed under her breath as she worked, hoping to calm the little flutters that would assail her, now and then. There was a charge between them, like the air before a thunderstorm. But she was not afraid of Jon.

The shears were making their little clipping noises as Jon breathed slowly in and out. His eyes looked heavy and she wondered if he was drowsy from his hard day’s work or if her humming was lulling him some. She decided to sing for him a bit. It’d been a while since she’d sang for someone just because she wanted to.

_“Only make believe I love you,_

_Only make believe that you love me_

_Others find peace in pretending_

_Couldn’t you?_

_Couldn’t I?_

_Couldn’t we?”_

He was listening intently but his head started to bob. She grinned to herself. She indulged in running her fingers through his hair. She saw one eyelid raise.

“I’m just checking to be sure it’s even,” she said softly. He nodded and a sweet smile appeared on his lips. “Time for me to trim your beard now. Tilt your head back a bit.”

She wet her hands in the basin and rubbed his beard. It was bristlier than the hair on his head but soft in way, too. She caressed his cheek and then started trimming. His lips were so full and inviting. She’d like to know what it felt like to press hers against them.

_“Make believe our lips are blending_

_In a phantom kiss, or two, or three_

_Might as well make believe I love you_

_For to tell the truth I…_ Oh, Ghost!” she screeched as the wolf headbutted her rear and she landed right in Jon’s lap.

Jon’s eyes flew open from his dozing and his hands automatically came around her waist so she wouldn’t fall into the sawdust and hair clippings at their feet.

“I’m so sorry! Ghost knocked me right over!”

“Why’d you go and do that you clumsy beast?!” he said with a fearsome scowl.

Ghost, the big baby, whined by way of apology, making Sansa giggle.

“Perhaps he’s telling me he wants to give me that ride now.”

“Well, that’s no way to treat a lady, Ghost! And why knock her into me? Did you want her to ride me?!”

The instant he said it, his face paled and he gulped. She gulped, too. His mouth opened and closed like a fish as he struggled for something to say. She laid her finger to his lips and said, “We won’t be telling Robb about that either.” He nodded and then they both began to laugh to ease the tension. So, naturally, like some ninny she blurted out, “You smell very nice.”

“Some sweet lady gave me some nice smellin’ soap,” he winked.

Her cheeks were on fire from that wink. “I should probably get up.”

“You probably should.” He made no move to release her.

Sansa had kissed a fellow or two in her time…and received a few unwanted kisses as well. But right now, she wanted nothing so much as to kiss Jon Snow.

But before she could act on any sort of lunacy, there were voices outside the entrance of the tent.

_And there’s work to do and an act to work on._

Sansa quickly scrambled off Jon’s lap and dusted off her dress. She was pleased to see how disappointed he looked by that. “Your hair and beard are trimmed. So, shall we get started?”

“Started?” he frowned.

“Yes. We agreed to let me ride Ghost.”

“But I…”

"I’ll change and meet you under the Big Top in ten minutes,” she said in a business-like tone before she strode off towards her quarters.

* * *

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Song lyrics from 'The Flying Trapeze' by George Leybourne and 'Make Believe' by Jerome Kern from the musical 'Showboat.'


	9. Chapter 9

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sansa works with Ghost

Jon’s not quite sure how she managed it, but he’s sure that Miss Sansa was making time slow as she gave his hair a sorely need cut, as well as causing his pulse rate to jump up a few notches.

He was pretty proud of himself, if truth be told. He’d successfully held back a groan of pleasure or two as her fingers slipped through his hair and her nails lightly scraped at his scalp. If he were a cat, he’d be purring something fierce right about then. Especially when she’d started stroking his whiskers, her pretty face so close to his.

He couldn’t remember the last time anyone had touched him like this; with such affection.

_Affection? Calm down now, before you get ahead of yourself. She’s doin’ you a favour to keep you from lookin’ all like a beggarman is all._

Jon remembers her lulling him into a numb kind of bliss with her hands in his hair and a sweet tune on her lips. He fancies that she were singing just for him, but likely she was just entertaining herself while completing the tiresome task after chopping her brother’s locks too.

 _Her brothers._ Seven hells, he thought he was a goner the very second Robb Stark mentioned that they’d been caught creeping back on site alone with one another, and with Miss Sansa in her state of disarray as she was.

_It was a glorious kind of disarray though. I wouldn’t mind seein’ more of her all messed up an’ laughin’ like she did up at those stars._

_Stop it!_

Rubbing at his thighs, Jon let out a sigh as he leant back to take a gander out of the tent flap. He couldn’t quite move just yet, on account of just how affected he had been by having Miss Sansa in his lap, gazing down at him with those baby blues. He could still smell the clean, floral scent of her lingering in the air a bit – and that wasn’t helping either. There’s no way he’ll leave this damn stool until the tenting in his trousers subsides.

Ghost’s head left its place resting on his paws to whimper up at him. “I know, I know,” Jon grumbled back at the beast before he was reminded that this was all his fault anyhow. “What ya go and push her onto me for, boy?” The wolf yawned a wide jawed yawn and laid his head down once more. “Don’t go gettin’ too cozy. Think she’s gonna put you to work.”

He stood, adjusting himself and peered out just in time to see Miss Sansa striding over to the Big Top in a plain leotard the same colour as her pretty forget-me-not blue eyes. “She can put me to work if she likes an’ all,” he muttered to himself as he watched her walk with a determined set to her shoulders and back.

He gave a short, sharp whistle to get the wolf’s attention before tapping at his thigh and leaving the tent. “Come on, boy. Let’s see what she’s got in mind for you, you great oaf.”

The stalls inside the Big Top were left in the dark while the three central performance rings were illuminated. Jon could hear that other people were around, but he only had eyes for the girl in the left-hand ring. She’d taken her boots off and was stood barefoot in the sand that littered the floor. Ghost instantly left his side and padded over to her. Butting her chest with the flat of his head in greeting.

_We only just saw her ten minutes ago, boy. You miss her already?_

Shoving his hands in his pockets, Jon slowed his steps and tried not to make out that he was as eager as his fur-covered friend to be in her company again.

“Thanks again for the haircut,” he said for lack of anything else left to say. He kicked idly at the sand as Miss Sansa continued to reign affection on Ghost. A large part of him hoped that his hair would start growing again quick, so she’d do the same to him for his next haircut.

“You’re welcome,” she smiled at him. “You can come to me again for a trim… if you’d like to.”

He definitely would.

“Alright,” she said with an air of authority as she reached into a pouch she had attached to a belt around her hips. “Let’s see what we’re working with.”

“I don’t know if you’ll be able to get him to do anythin’,” Jon told her, stroking at his newly trimmed facial hair, the bristles making a satisfying noise. “He’s just a wolf.”

Sansa pulled something from her pouch and offered it to Ghost who quickly started chomping on it. “Don’t listen to him,” she cooed, hands on either side of the beast’s massive muzzle as she looked into his blood red eyes. “You’re my friend now, aren’t you, boy?”

“What you givin’ him?”

“Bits of chicken and bacon,” she shrugged, giving the animal another morsel.

Jon chuckled. “You fattening him up?”

She threw him a smirk. “Just showing him some kindness is all,” Miss Sansa explained, all the while her hands were either reaching for another tasty treat, or smoothing and petting as much of the wolf as she could reach. “This method works well with the dogs.”

“He ain’t no dog.”

Sansa chose to ignore him and instead crouched down, placing her closed fist on top of the sandy floor – presumably with a piece of chicken or bacon inside. “Ghost, _down_ ,” she told the animal in a commanding tone that had no business giving Jon so many goose bumps on his forearms.

The wolf titled his head and looked down at her before sniffing and butting his snout at her fist. “Ghost, _down_ ,” she repeated. The animal whined and miraculously laid his giant body in front of her, paws outstretched, eyes intent on the promised treat within her closed hand. “Good boy!” she squealed happily, releasing the reward for him to snaffle up. “Good boy! _You’re such a good boy!”_ she cooed, ruffling the fur on his chest. “Ghost, _up_ ,” Sansa said, standing and dangling a piece of bacon as high as she could manage.

“So you’re bribing him to do as you please?” Jon said, crossing his arms over his chest with amusement.

“Good behaviour earns a reward, Jon Snow,” she threw over her shoulder at him, “didn’t you ever learn that?”

He felt his lips twitch. “I’ll bear it in mind.”

“See that you do,” she sniffed, but Jon caught a hint of a smile as she turned away back to Ghost.

After a while, Miss Sansa was able to get Ghost to lay down _and_ roll onto his back using only her vocal commands and simple hand gestures, without having to resort to stuffing him with little pieces of chicken and bacon. Jon was awed. Right now, in front of him, the massive, daft, killing-machine was laid with his back to the sand, his belly being exposed for Miss Sansa to rub as she showered him with sweet praise in her pretty sing-song voice.

He neared them and crouched down on his haunches. Playfully shoving at the direwolf’s huge relaxed floppy paws. “You turned all puppy on me for a pretty face an’ some bacon?”

“Like you wouldn’t do the same?” Miss Sansa grinned.

 _You wouldn’t need no bribes to give me a belly rub,_ Jon thought before he could stop himself, watching Sansa’s cheeks start to glow. She averted her eyes and cleared her throat and he wondered if she could read his mind.

“You ridden him yet?” came a loud, commanding voice. Jon hopped up instantly, his heart making a few painful sudden thuds. Robb Stark was striding towards them, a wide smile on his face.

“Not yet,” Sansa told him, “you got to build trust first.”

“How much trust can one build with a wolf?” Robb mused, coming to stand beside Jon and look down at the giant beast enjoying the attentions of his new friend.

“He does seem to like her,” Jon admitted, “but getting him to do-“ he waved his hand at the spectacle before him, “- _this_ … and performing in front of a crowd…with the lights and the noise? I don’t know about all that.”

Robb twisted to look at him. “We’ve had our fair few of jittery horses, you know,” he said with a smile, “refuse to go out on show night, rear at the first hint of applause, that kind of thing. But Sansa’s right; you build the kind of trust with an animal so that when you’re with it, all its attention is on you and nothing else matters.”

Jon felt himself frown. “Ghost’s no spooked horse.”

Robb Stark smiled a contemplative smile at him before turning back to his sister. “Sansa, I want you to spend as much time with Ghost as possible,” he instructed. “How is he when you take him into towns?” he asked Jon.

“As long as he sticks by my side, he’s fine.”

“Perfect. I want you, your wolf and Sansa to go nail more show posters in and around Highgarden; really drum up some interest for opening night. Walk around town for a while, let people see that magnificent animal. Just be sure to tell them ‘bout the show.”

Jon nodded, trying to temper that pleased feeling that was bubbling in his gut with some form of reserve, but having trouble however, when he turned to see Miss Sansa giggling as the giant direwolf was affectionately trying to lick her face off.


	10. Chapter 10

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sansa, Jon and Ghost visit town and draw a crowd.

 

* * *

 

The next day found Jon and Sansa strolling away from the Big Top towards Highgarden proper. She might’ve ridden Lady but Jon mentioned he’d not spent much time on horseback. It’d been easier to bond with Ghost walking beside him anyway.

Jon had his hands shoved in his pockets and seemed content to let her lead the way. She’d only visited Highgarden a couple of times so she felt a little lost as to where the posters would draw the most eyes.

“Shall we try Rose Street? There’s shops aplenty there.”

It was where she’d traded her baubles yesterday. He nodded and followed.

Away from the circus and her family, Sansa felt a bit shyer being sent off with Jon Snow this way but Robb knew what he was doing. Everywhere they walked, people were staring dumbstruck at Ghost. Word would get around about the circus’s big draw.

_It’ll be good for our show. We’ll have a good run here and things will work out_ , she told herself.

But, not all the looks directed their way were friendly. She noticed how Jon would put his hand on Ghost at times and mutter a few words under his breath.

“Are you worried about him misbehaving?”

“More worried about the people misbehaving than him, truth be told.” She raised her eyebrows at him, confused. “Not everyone’s so accepting of him. We’ve been chased off from places more than once with threats. Some have even out-right said he’d make a fine rug.”

“Oh, dear,” she gasped, horrified.

He was enormous and certainly intimidating at first glance. But Ghost was a sweetheart, like a great puppy towards her. _Well, maybe he’s not that way with everyone,_ she thought. She imagined if anyone threatened Jon, they’d quickly regret it. However, she simply couldn’t bear for any harm to come to Ghost.

She glanced around again at some of the crowd watching them, searching for any signs of hostility. She spotted some soon enough but it wasn’t directed at Ghost. A pair of finely dressed older women were looking her up and down and clucking their tongues as she and Jon passed. She felt her cheeks flame.

The dress was one of her best and perfectly respectable. Mauve with ivory lace trim that matched her hat, she’d made it herself, just as she made all her family’s clothes and many of the show’s costumes. She was quite proud of this dress. She had on her best pair of gloves, too. But folks always seemed to know she was circus whether she was dressed like this or in one of her sparkly leotards. And plenty of so-called fine folk would forever look down their noses at her because of it.

Her mother had said not to fret over what that kind of strangers thought. Just as long as she could look herself in the mirror every morning, she had no cause to feel any shame for entertaining people. Sometimes, it was not easy though. Sansa wanted to like folks and to be liked in return.

“You alright?” Jon asked.

“I’m fine.” He gave her a sceptical look. “If you say Ghost isn’t always accepted where he goes, I guess he’ll fit right in with the rest of us.”

Her eyes darted towards the ladies just as they shook their heads and one of them made a remark about harlots with their hair dyed red.

She had heard numerous unkind remarks in the past but somehow the arrow made it past her armour this morning and tears pricked her eyes. Arya would’ve thrown mud at them but Sansa chose to lift her chin and pretend they could not hurt her with their words.

“Would you look at that, Sansa?” Jon said loudly as he eyed the women with more than a touch of insolence. “Some poor farmer’s lost two of his asses and they must’ve wandered through someone’s clothes line on the way into town. I’d pay a stag to see them perform the trapeze, wouldn’t you?”

The ladies gasped and sputtered but a crowd of lower class folk had gathered to see the wolf and tittered at Jon’s comment.

Sansa should probably not condone him saying such things. She didn’t wish to make a poor impression and the high and low alike were welcome at the circus. But her face split into a grin all the same and she felt lighter as they continued on their way, leaving the old biddies behind.

They’d attracted a fair sized crowd of the curious, mostly children, by the time they reached the retail district.

“Is that a wolf, Mister?” one little boy asked.

“Aye, it is.”

“Never seen a wolf so big.”

“You can see him perform at the Stark Family Circus,” Sansa said brightly.

She stuck a hand into the pocket of her dress and pulled out some hard candies for the children. She’d swiped them from poor Rickon this morning for this very purpose. She could renew his supply at the general store. All the children crowded about her with delighted faces while holding out grubby hands. Jon gave her a wink and she wondered if her cheeks could grow any pinker.

The shopkeeper and his wife who she’d traded her baubles with the day before greeted her kindly when she entered and agreed to allow her to hang up a poster in their store. She bought Rickon a few candies from them to replace what she’d taken and a few more for any other children that decided to follow when she heard a commotion out front.

She rushed back out to join Jon, afraid someone was coming for Ghost. Instead, she was astonished to see their crowd had swelled to nearly thirty people now, all with questions about Ghost.

“Where’d he come from?”

“Why’re his eyes red?”

“What’s his act?”

“Will he grow any bigger?”

“What do you feed ‘im?”

“Best keep him away from my chickens.”

Jon looked more than a little out of his depth with all the questions being hurled at him but Sansa was used to working a crowd…at least when they weren’t being rude to her.

“He’s from the mysterious forests far to the North! A mystical place with magical beasts! His eyes are like red rubies because he’s the rarest of the rare! He eats lizard lions, poisonous serpents and anything that threatens his favourite black cat! He’s still a pup and may grow as big as a barn in time! His act is too astounding for words! You’ll have to see it with your own eyes to believe it! Tell your neighbours and friends! The Stark Family Circus! First performance Friday night!”

Her heart was pounding as she finished her little speech. She thought Robb would be rather proud.

Jon was looking at her like she might have grown a set of antlers.

“Come on,” she said cheerily as the crowd started chattering excitedly. “We’ve more posters to put up.”

 

* * *

 

 

Two hours later, they’d hung up all their posters and had been talking away like magpies about a dozen different things but mainly about themselves. They’d decided to rest their tired feet on a convenient log on their way back to the site. Ghost was gnawing on a lizard lion which looked suspiciously like a chicken.

_Well, one stray chicken won’t be missed too badly_ , she hoped.

She sniffled and wiped at her eyes. She hadn’t meant to burden him with quite so much today. There was just something about Jon and his quiet way that put her at ease. She’d got to talking about her family and the circus and soon more came out than she’d meant to share. She told him about her parents and the fire. She told him about Lord Baelish and the debt he held over Robb. She did not tell him about him asking for her hand from Robb or expecting half the loan to be repaid when they reached Kings Landing though.

Now, she’d managed to work herself up to having a cry and was ashamed of causing Jon and Ghost both distress with her tears.

“I’m terribly sorry. I never meant to trouble you with…”

Ghost rested his great head on her knee. She didn’t even mind the bit of blood he got on her dress from his early dinner. She was too busy trying to ignore the way her pulse quickened when Jon clasped one of her hands as he passed over a handkerchief.

“Don’t apologize. I’m right sorry for all your hardships, Sansa. It’s a pity what all you and your family’s been through.”

“No more than you,” she said as she daintily blew her nose. She tucked his handkerchief away. It was a bit ragged but it was greatly appreciated. She’d make him three new ones in exchange for his kindness and gentlemanly courtesy. “At least I have my family. You’ve been on your own since…”

“Don’t fret none over me,” he urged, taking her hand again. “I miss my mum of course but Ghost and I’ve done alright.”

She sincerely doubted that. He needed looking after and a place to belong, the same as anyone else, she thought. _We could be your family. I could look after you_.

But she didn’t say all that for now there was no ignoring how his hand holding hers made her heart pitter-patter, nor the way his dark grey eyes ensnared her or his full lips beckoned for a chaste peck at least.

_Sweet Maiden, are you mad?!_

_When it comes to this man, perhaps I am. Mad about him maybe._

She chastised herself for the thought. She demurely dropped her chin and slipped her hand from his. “We should be getting back.”

“Aye. Don’t want your brother questioning me on what’s took us so long or where all I’ve had you,” he said with a teasing leer. For some reason, his face paled a beat or two after he said it. “I mean, not I've _had_ you, uh…gods.”

Sansa blushed as she caught his meaning but also laughed. He was blushing, too.

“Perhaps the newspaper will distract him.”

Robb always liked to read the local paper when they arrived in a new town. He said keeping abreast of current events and gossip came in handy when working the crowd and being aware of any potential troublemakers.

Jon gave the paper a glance. “Perhaps it will. What’s the news in Highgarden?”

“Nothing very exciting. Talk of the Rose Blossom Festival and some land dispute between the Hightowers and Redwynes. Lord Mace Tyrell’s hosting a grand ball in honour of his daughter Lady Margaery.”

Sansa sighed wistfully at that. She didn’t want fancy balls hosted in her honour exactly but it would be lovely just once to attend one someday and not as the Little Bird warbling for her supper either. She realized Jon was watching her keenly and cleared her throat as she continued scanning.

“The biggest news seems to be some lord who’s searching for his son all over the country.”

“Oh?”

“‘Lord Rhaegar Targaryen of Dragonstone Seeks Missing Bastard Son.’ Says there’s a reward for information of his whereabouts but it doesn’t…Jon!”

He’d snatched the paper rudely out of her hands and pulled his cap back on. “Come on. Daylight is burning and you and Ghost have work to do, same as me. Don’t want to miss supper either. Ghost! Let’s go!”

He rose from the log without another word, leaving Sansa stunned by his behaviour.

All the way back she puzzled over what could’ve made him act thusly. She hoped she’d not annoyed him with her sad story or her tears. She cared what Jon Snow thought of her. She was coming to care very much. She worried over it so that she didn’t even realize he never gave her the paper back.

* * *

 


	11. Chapter 11

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So sorry - I was meant to post this yesterday but some RL issues popped up! I hope you enjoy the update...

_Two hundred Dragons! Two hundred Dragons!_ _Who has that kind of cash to just offer out?!_ Jon thought. He was barely containing his anger as it simmered just beneath the surface whilst he paced back and forth between the circus peanut stand and the ‘hall of mirrors’. Ghost whined as he tried to keep up. Jon halted once more, opening the paper to the advertisement in question. _Lord Rhaegar Targaryen, of the Targaryen Mining Corporation, Dragonstone offers a reward for information on the whereabouts of his missing bastard son._ Jon sneered and balled the paper up in his hands. Why wouldn’t the man just let him be?

He wonders if the Starks should catch wind of any of this, would they’d turn him over to _daddy-dearest_ and collect that reward? Jon’s jaw tightened at the thought. Sansa said that he was part of their little circus family now. In fact, she’d said it more than once even though he’s only been with them not even a week. Family wouldn’t do that to family… would they?

_Not like you know anythin’ ‘bout that anyhow,_ Jon thought sullenly. And from Miss Sansa’s confession about the debts of the circus, they sure could use every penny they can lay their hands on.

His mind flashed the image of blotchy pink skin and tear-tracked cheeks. She’d sniffled and took shaky breaths, trying to compose herself in front of him. He had very much wished to hold her tight in that moment, offering up any kind of comfort that was within his power. She needn’t’ve been so sorry for her tears.

Her mood had perked up a bit when they’d begun looking at the stories in the paper. Jon looked down to the crumpled ball of printed words. Some of the ink had stained the heel of his hand.

A smile spread across his dour expression at the memory of the look in Miss Sansa’s eye when she was talking of fancy Highgarden balls and whatnot - like a kid with their face pressed up covetously close to the window pane of a sweet shop. Jon thinks she’d fit in just fine at one of those swanky shin-digs. No, not just fit in – she’d be the centre of everyone’s attention. She’d outshine the brightest evening star.

And then his blood had frozen in his veins to hear his father’s name. _And you snatched the paper out her hands before storming off to brew in your own temper._ Jon let out a groan and turned his head up to the afternoon sky. He hadn’t meant to be rude. He’d barely glanced back at Sansa for the whole walk back to the circus site. _She’ll think you a sulky ass, you idiot,_ he chided himself.

“Come on, boy,” Jon murmured to his wolf with a tap to his thigh. “I got some apologisin’ to do.” Ghost snorted and came trotting alongside him.

Jon didn’t find Miss Sansa in her train car like he was hoping. She weren’t in the Big Top neither. He was on his way to the cook tent when a red lipstick smile stopped him in his tracks. “Hello handsome,” Ros, one of the performers purred in her spangly leotard, hose, long satin gloves and some kind of feather headdress. She must’ve come from a rehearsal.

 

“You’re new aren’t you, sugar?”

She slid one of her satin gloves clean off, pinched at the finger as her eyes skimmed him up and down like a hot meal. Jon nod his head in confirmation but found himself taking a step back.

“Has darling Grenn told you how I like to look after you boys?” she asked, ridding herself of the other glove.

He cleared his throat, surprised at her boldness. “He has…if… if I’m catchin’ your meanin’ right.”

She chuckled at that, gaze briefly dropping to the grass at their feet before she looked up again and took a step closer. “I’m sure you’re catching my meaning just fine.”

“I should be gettin’ on and-“

“First time’s on the house for a handsome fella like yourself,” Ros offered, raising a coquettish brow.

“You best peddle your wares someplace else darlin’,” came the aged, cracked voice of Nan as she waddled up to them both. She stopped and pat Jon affectionately on the arm. “This one already belongs to someone.”

Jon furrowed his brow although he was mightily relieved for this conversation to be interrupted. Ros smirked down at the older woman. “Who? You, Nan? You stealing my boys away from under my nose?”

“Ha!” the woman snorted at the jest. “Sorry sweetie, as I said, this one ain’t one of _‘your boys’_. He’s taken… and I think you should perhaps ease up on entertainin’ so often. Don’t cha think?”

Ros’ brows furrowed as she tried to make sense of the older woman. Something akin to realisation worked over her features and she bit her lip as her eyes darted away. “Shame,” she conceded with a nod, slinking away without so much as a backward glance.

Jon licked his lips. “Who is this person I ‘belong to’ then, Nan?”

“Oh like you don’t already know.”

“I don’t,” he chuckled. “I haven’t ever belonged to someone before.”

Old Nan reached up to pinch Jon’s cheek with wrinkled fingers like soft leather. “That’s because you hadn’t met her yet. An’ she wants to take care of yer,” her hand slipped down to pat his chest, over his heart, “and take care of this.” Jon’s chest felt tight right before Nan’s demeanour changed as swift as a breeze and she was suddenly rather less serious. “He hungry?” she took a step back and tilt her head towards Ghost. “I got some mutton left over.”

“He’d be grateful.”

The old woman bobbed her head with a smile and turned towards the cook tent. “Come on, wolf,” she said, stopping to scratch Ghost behind one ear before waddling off.

Ghost looked between Jon and the retreating elderly woman. “Go on then,” Jon urged, “you can find me after, I’m sure.”

Sometimes Jon thinks his wolf understands more than he should. He shook his head at the huge loping form of a beast, loyally following the heels of the little old woman.

Jon’s just about to resume his search for Miss Sansa when a shrill whistle pierced the air. Looking across to the source of the noise, he sees Robb Stark waving him over.

“We could use all the hands we can get to help bring water up from the river,” the man told him as Jon neared.

Jon shrugged. “Sure.” He was here to work, after all. “What for?”

“All the horses will be washed down and groomed before show night tomorrow. After that, could you give Farlen a hand with feeding his hounds?”

“No problem, boss,” Jon tapped the peak of his cap and rolled up his sleeves as he made to get to work.

“Oh, and how did it go in town? Did they love your wolf?” Robb asked with a grin.

“They seemed to.”

“Was there trouble?” his expression pinched a little, “Sansa seems a little out of sorts.”

Jon shook his head feeling like a prized idiot. A guilt-ridden prized idiot at that. “Weren’t any trouble.”

After making numerous trips from the river, carrying a back-breaking amount of water in the large tin tub and then helping out with the hounds, Jon got roped into erecting some temporary fencing that will keep the paying customers away from the areas strictly for circus folk and their animals. Dusk was falling as he came to Nan and her cook tent. He was sweat-covered and dirty, and his stomach was growling something fierce, but he felt good about pulling his weight and pitching in with everyone else. Never let it be said that Jon Snow doesn’t earn his keep.

“She took your wolf with her about an hour ago,” Nan smiled as she set down some mashed potatoes and cold cuts in front of him.

“Who?”

The confounding old woman only pat his face as her grin grew wider before she shuffled back inside without any further word.

Later, Jon found a pile of neatly folded hand-knitted blankets and one goose-feather pillow waiting for him on the step of Miss Sansa’s train car. He knocked softly but heard no reply. There wasn’t any lamp glow coming from inside neither. He could hear Ghost snoring something fierce though.

***

The air was charged with an excitable pop and crackle when he awoke and broke his fast with the rest of the hands. Tonight was opening show night and everyone seemed to be in high spirits.

“Robb says you’re to exhibit Ghost tonight,” Arya told him, sitting down on the bench with her own bowl of oatmeal.

Jon felt his nose and brow crinkle. “Exhibit?”

“Yeah,” she mumbled through her mouthful, “you know, jus’ let the people gawp at him and whatnot.”

“He ain’t no freak in a freak show.”

Arya shrugged. “People will like to see him.” Her spoon scraped at the bottom of her tin bowl as she hastily scooped up the last mouthfuls of her breakfast. “You comin’ for the bonfire after the show?”

“Bonfire?”

“It’s a tradition for opening night,” she grinned, “everyone goes and Farlen will bring some moonshine.”

Jon snorted and shook his head. “Aren’t you a little young for all that?”

“You grow up in the circus, you grow up pretty fast.”

Jon doesn’t doubt it. “Your brother’s alright with this?”

“He don’t go,” Arya told him, “doesn’t really like that we still do it to be honest, what with the fire and what happened to Mama and Papa and all the rest. Sometimes, if there’s not enough space in the field we’ve pitched in, he’ll outright forbid it.”

Jon dropped his eyes to the worn grain of the trestle table and nods his head. It’s a mighty heavy burden Robb Stark has picked up, caring for all these people under him and seeing to his own grief all the while. All the Starks deserve more happiness then they’re currently getting Jon reckons. Having a loving mother and father and all the security that comes with that – to then have that stripped away from you all at once. Jon’s sure that kind of thing leaves a mark on your heart. It did with his.

“I’m real sorry about what happened,” he offered quietly, “with your folks and the fire.”

“Mother and father always used to attend the bonfire,” she smiled inwardly, her face aglow with fond memories. “Father would keep an eye on things to make sure no one drank themselves to death and mother… mother would sing for everyone.”

There was a wistful warmth to her memories now, Jon could tell. “I bet Miss Sansa’s voice cheers folks some.” It sure would with him.

“Oh, Sansa doesn’t go. Not anymore anyway. Not since one of the hands we had got too deep in his drink an’ tried puttin’ his hands on her.”

Jon’s brows rose… as did an angry sort of bile in his stomach.

“I punched out two of his teeth an’ Robb fired him the very same night,” Arya grinned before shaking out and flexing her hand in phantom pain. “It didn’t half hurt though. Couldn’t throw my knives properly for two whole weeks!” She shovelled one last scrape of oatmeal into her chops before wiping her mouth with the back of her sleeve. “Speakin’ of throwing knives, I’d better get to rehearsal.”

Everyone was abuzz that day, anticipating the numbers at the gate and the people coming to see their show. All performers were busy with their last run-throughs before the big night. That included Miss Sansa, much to Jon’s disappointment. He had really hoped to make amends for his behaviour yesterday. But what with all the hours she was spending up in the air or balancing on the back of a horse, he didn’t seem to be able to catch up with her at the right time.

Jon was getting roped into washing down the horses and checking all the stalls and the few fairground rides that The Starks kept with their circus. After getting his evening meal at dusk, he took Ghost to the pen that Robb Stark had asked him to ‘exhibit’ the wolf in. It was nothing but a fenced off patch of grass outside the Big Top but Jon could sense some restlessness in his fur-covered friend. _Or perhaps that’s just you?_

The night was encroaching, and the air smelt of candy apples and melted butter as the first few people came through the gates. The calliope was playing a jaunty tune on its organ and various painted flags advertising the acts waved lazily in the night breeze as folks lined up to buy their tickets. Most were of a working class, Jon could tell, but dotted in amongst them were a few fancy-looking folks, curious about the entertainment being laid on for them.

Jon felt his palms start to sweat a bit. Even though all he was doing was standing in a pen with Ghost, he wasn’t accustomed with being on display. His mind reached back into yesterday and how Miss Sansa had come out of that little convenience shop and addressed that crowd that had left him uneasy like it were nothing at all. He could really do with some of her company around about now. Ghost whined as if reading Jon’s mind and deciding to voice his agreement. Jon reached over to pat him on the head as a few people came to stop and view the giant wolf.

As if being conjured from his very own wishes, Jon’s heart rattled in his ribcage when he spotted Miss Sansa entering the pen. He swiftly removed his cap and began wringing it in his hands. “I snaffled some sausage for him,” she told Jon, reaching into a little pouch. She was wearing an overcoat synched at the waist. Jon suspected her performance costume lay beneath it.

“He’s grateful,” Jon told her with a bob of his throat. _It’s now or never._ “Miss Sansa, about yesterday, I-“

“I’m sorry about that,” Sansa interrupted, leaving Jon a little perplexed.

“What do you have to be sorry for?”

She stood there, looking at the ground and clasping her hands together in front of herself. She looked uneasy. Jon didn’t like that.

“I was silly for crying like I did.”

“No,” Jon shook his head. “No, you weren’t.” He licked his lips and gave the growing crowd a quick glance, seeing that Ghost seemed quite happy to give a few of his audience member’s outstretched hands a sniff. A child offered him a peanut.

Jon took a step closer to Sansa and kept his voice low lest he be overheard. “None of that is your fault. Your parents, the debt, none of it. If you feel like having a weep at that, well then you come find me an’ I’ll listen, you hear?”

Sansa looked up to him through her lashes, those big bright blue eyes doing odd things to his stomach. Nodding at him with a small smile on her lips, the tension seemed to leave the set of her shoulders.

“It’s me that should be apologisin’,” Jon continued, “I acted out of sorts when you were readin’ the paper ‘cause…” He hadn’t gotten this far in his head. Jon would love to tell her everything, but he’s never done that with anyone. “Because I get fed up of hearin’ about fancy folks is all,” he lied, “they’re out there havin’ their balls and whatnot, when there’s decent hard-workin’ people like yourself an’ your family an’ you’re in difficulties.” He swallowed the deceit guiltily, glancing downward and toeing at a clump of grass with his boot. “Just don’t seem fair is all.”

Sansa slowly raised her head, her smile spreading gently across her lips. “So, we’re friends again?”

“Of course,” Jon beamed back at her before clearing his throat. “So, listen, you wanna go to that bonfire you folks have after your big performance?”

“Oh…I don’t know if that’s-“

“Arya told me about what happened. I wouldn’t be lettin’ that happen again.” He began wringing his cap in his hands once more. “Seems a shame for you to miss out… I’ll protect you, I promise.”

“Sansa!” Robb Stark hissed from outside the pen. He was wearing his very dapper looking red ringmaster’s tailcoat with shiny golden looking buttons and a pristine top hat. He scrubbed up pretty well from all the hard work he’d been doing with the rest of them. “Come on!” he inclined his head towards the Big Top.

“I…I’ll think about it,” she murmured to Jon, taking a few hurried paces away to follow where her brother had already disappeared. She halted however to spin right around and quickly hop back to where he stood. “Thank you,” she whispered before steadying herself with a hand on his arm and brushing a quick peck to his cheek.

Jon’s not sure what exactly prompted this show of gratitude as he stood there, a little dumbstruck while she scurried away to ready herself for her act, but whatever it is, he’ll gladly do it again.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you to all those who keep leaving lovely comments - Vivi and I appreciate it very much!


	12. Chapter 12

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Opening night is a success, Theon Greyjoy makes his debut with the Stark Family Circus and Sansa gets tipsy at the bonfire. Angst ahead...

 

Despite her claims to the contrary in town yesterday, they had no grand sensational act for Ghost to perform as of yet. Sansa didn’t like to lie but Robb would call it grandstanding for the sake of the show. So many things were riding on their success. Surely, it was not so terrible of her to stretch things a bit, was it?

Regardless, Sansa had sang up above the crowd on her perch, performed on the trapeze with Bran and then done her stunt riding on Lady to the usual round of ‘oohs’ and ‘ahhs.’ No one seemed to feel short-changed from what she could see of the smiling faces that there was no amazing spectacle involving a direwolf.

She had managed to talk Jon into allowing her to lead Ghost around the centre ring before the end of the performance though. Ghost had behaved admirably, following her about as if he were an obedient dog, an obedient dog who was nearly as large as a horse. He did love the sausages she fed him though she was beginning to suspect the wolf might harbour his own sweet affection for her. She hoped the same might be said of his friend.

It wasn’t anything that would bring a crowd back again and again but Robb had gone on about how rare direwolves were and told the audience they could tell their friends and neighbours what they’d seen and more specifically what their friends and neighbours _hadn’t_. It seemed to have left the crowd buzzing and eager for more.

_And word may spread to Ashford. By then, perhaps I’ll really have something to show them._

In the meanwhile, the newest human act to join their show had managed to wow the crowd enough to make up for a direwolf who didn’t know any tricks yet.

Theon Greyjoy, known as The Drowned God, was an escape artist who hailed from the Iron Islands. His act was every bit as thrilling and death-defying as promised. He’d been put in a straight-jacket, chained and then locked in a special glass cabinet which was then filled with water as the audience watched before it was all covered with an enormous cloth.

The crowd had been on the edge of its seats waiting to see if he’d escape before he drowned. Several women had swooned and some of the men had shouted at Robb to take up the nearby axe and set him free. Robb had appeared to be considering it just as Theon emerged from beneath the curtain with a flourish to rapturous applause and screams. Sansa had been applauding with them, still not certain how he’d managed it. Jon had been standing beside her clapping as well and as bug-eyed as she probably was.

But now the show was over for tonight. The crowd had wandered off home, the lights of the Big Top were dimmed and the band had stopped playing the retreat. Popcorn, sticky bits of candy floss and peanut shells littered the sawdust floor which some of the lads would be set to sweeping up in the morning before tomorrow night’s performance when the magic of the circus would return. But now, it was time to rest…or celebrate a successful night if one were in the mood.

Sansa walked back towards her car with Ghost, mulling over Jon’s words from earlier. He was so sweet offering an ear to bend when she was troubled. She wondered if he was only saying it to make her feel better. She hoped not. She still couldn’t believe she’d kissed his cheek. It was nothing but a peck but it had made her heart race and her cheeks flush. She was glad none of her siblings spied her doing so. They’d be sure to tease her. Well, Robb wouldn’t tease her but that might be even worse.

She also thought over his offer to go to the bonfire with him watching over her. That drunken lout had quite put her off from them though he was long gone.

_“I’ll protect you, I promise,”_ Jon had said.

She started humming to herself, just recalling the look in his dark grey eyes when he said it…it was like something in one of those stories she’d loved as a child. Surely, that was a sacred vow if ever she’d heard one. And of course, she’d not forgotten how he’d spoken up for her in town yesterday when those so-called ladies had been making their remarks. He was no knight in a fairy tale but then again, perhaps he was better than some old musty story.

_Silly girl. Must your heart go thump-thump over everything Jon Snow does?_

Her heart should remember itself. She probably shouldn’t be quite so smitten either.

Robb was sitting up with his ledgers and she knew he’d be keeping an ear out for any trouble. She felt guilty that her brother wouldn’t allow himself to mix and mingle with everyone. But as the head of their family and the circus, she supposed he felt he must maintain a certain mystique on top of not caring for the fire. He’d pitch in and help with any of the manual labour but he would not take part in their celebration.

“What do you think, Ghost?” she asked the direwolf at her side. She was surprised Jon hadn’t turned up. “Should I go? I’ll bet you’d would watch over me till Jon appears, wouldn’t you?”

The wolf stared back at her, licking his chops and eyeing the pocket where she’d kept the sausages. She’d take that as a yes.

But before she could turn her feet towards the bonfire, she was distracted by feminine laughter spilling from the dancers’ car. She saw a few of them emerging from their car…along with Theon Greyjoy. Most were still wearing their costumes but Theon had changed into a dapper black suit with a golden cravat. He looked very much like the fox in the proverbial henhouse.

He spied her and left his dancers behind for a moment. He approached and Sansa thought she’d never before beheld a more explicit look of mischief on a man’s face.

“Brilliant performance tonight, Sansa! What a songbird you are! You left me positively breathless…and that was before your feats upon the high wire.” He claimed her hand for a kiss and gave her a roguish wink. Sansa took a step back but noted the gold nugget he wore on his ring finger. No doubt his act had brought him success. “Are you headed to the bonfire by chance? In need of an escort perhaps?”

He offered his arm as his eyes darted downward for a moment. She was still wearing her leotard and hadn’t cinched her coat back up. By her side, Ghost gave a very soft growl and Sansa cinched her cover up tightly.

“That is very kind of you, Mr. Greyjoy, but I’m…”

“Hands off Miss Sansa, sugar,” Ros said cheerily. “The boss don’t like any of the men getting too fresh with his little sister.”

“Except for Lord Baelish, that is,” another girl said quietly…but not quietly enough for Sansa not to hear.

Several of the others tittered behind their hands. Sansa was glad it was dark out as her face grew hot.

“A lord?” Theon scoffed. “What’s a lord to a god? On my honour, I’d be on my best behaviour with a young lady like you,” he said with a hand pressed to his heart.

Sansa rolled her eyes but could not help laughing.

“See that you are,” Ros warned him. “I’m sure if Miss Sansa wishes to attend the bonfire she’d be safer without you as an escort. And, are you standing me up already?”

“Oh, no, my lovely,” Theon cried. “I’ve got more than one arm to offer after all.”

He wound his arm around Ros and Sansa didn’t miss how low his hand dipped. _An arm or a tentacle?_

“Thank you for the offer, Mr. Greyjoy, but I haven’t made up my mind as of yet regarding the bonfire.”

He nodded and another girl came up to claim his free arm. The three of them sauntered off together with three other girls following. Sansa noticed Grenn watching them go with a sneer before he headed off that way as well.

She knew how Ros and a few of the other girls like to earn a bit of coin on the side. Robb did not like it but he preferred to stay out of such matters. An unpleasant thought struck Sansa. Jon would be getting his pay before long. He’d mentioned getting his hair and beard trimmed but was that all he wanted? What if he might be the sort to pay Ros a visit once he got his pay? A wave of jealousy swept over her though he was certainly not hers. She simply didn’t think she could bear seeing him with Ros hanging on his arm and whispering in his ear like she was doing to Theon right now. Perhaps she’d be better off going to her train car and not worrying over such things.

Before she could settle on it though, she heard someone clear their throat behind her and turned to find Jon standing there, nervously twiddling with his cap. “I was just seeing if…were you thinking on going, Sansa? Too the bonfire, that is?”

She took one look at him, her heart thump-thumping away all over again and said, “Yes,” before any sillier doubts could plague her. She glanced down at herself, the old coat covering her costume. She wasn’t Ros and Jon wasn’t Theon. “Just let me change first.”

 

* * *

 

 

Her cornflower blue dress with the white eyelet trim was probably the most daring dress she owned though women like Ros would laugh at her thinking it daring. She did not count the ones Lord Baelish gave her to wear when she sang for his friends. Those weren’t hers. And the costumes she wore in the show did not count either. They were just part of the act. She could hardly do the trapeze or perform her stunts on Lady in full skirts either, could she?

The neckline was low though and the sleeves were short. It fit her quite snug through the waist, showing off her ‘natural allurements’ to put it politely. She glanced over at Jon who was sitting beside her on a bale of hay while Dareon sang ‘Jenny’s Song.’ Jon was not as obvious as Theon had been but his eyes had strayed below her chin more than once as the bottle was passed round. She found she didn’t mind so much with Jon. And he was rather endearing when she’d catch him and he’d start blushing.

Ordinarily, the song might have made Sansa weepy but she’d never been this tipsy. She really shouldn’t have indulged. The moonshine had been easy enough to turn down. That stuff was vile. But when she’d spied the case of champagne sitting in her car which Lord Baelish had kindly forgotten to take with him, she’d supposed she could contribute to the party. Jon had been sweet enough to carry it.

“Drunk as lords as we drink like ‘em,” Pyp laughed as he polished off one of the bottles she’d provided.

Jon was grinning broadly as he opened another bottle with a loud pop and fizz. He took a sip and then passed it to her, wiping off the opening with the tail of his shirt. She could’ve told him she didn’t mind drinking after him but that might be too forward.

The bubbly substance made her giggly and her head was feeling fuzzy. She felt too warm even with so much of her chest exposed in the evening air and Jon Snow was the handsomest young man she thought she’d ever met. _Is this what it’s like to be drunk?_ she wondered.

“It’s good stuff,” she purred…and then hiccupped. “I beg your pardon,” she gasped, mortified now.

“Tis alright,” he said, still smiling. “It’s a heady brew. But if you don’t mind me saying as much, perhaps slow down now if you ain’t used to it.”

Sage advice. She nodded and swore she’d not touch another drop tonight…till the bottle passed their way again.

Two of the lads from the band had brought fiddles and Todder had his harmonica. They struck up a tune and Sansa started tapping her toe where they were sitting together. Ghost was watching from behind them, his eyes drawn to the fire and his head cocked to the side in curiosity.

“Sing us a song, Little Bird!” one of the lads called.

“Yes, sing! You sing for the fancy folk and the crowd, girlie. Sing one just for this lot,” Nan said.

She blushed at Jon’s intent look, took a final sip of champagne and stood. She thought of days gone by and her mother singing as she tried to decide on a song. The oldest songs called to her and she sang ‘Alysanne,’ ‘The Winter’s Maid’ and ‘Two Hearts that Beat as One.’ Arya called for a happier tune and nearly everyone sang along with her to ‘The Bear and the Maiden Fair.’

Sansa sat back down once that one was finished, pleased that she’d come and joined them tonight despite her throat being a mite sore from singing in the night air and the smoke from the fire. The fiddlers and harmonica took over again and a few couples began to dance. Some of the younger girls linked hands and danced as well.

Sansa smoothed down her skirts and told herself it was certainly impious to waste her prayers hoping Jon Snow might ask her to dance.

“May I have this dance, Miss Sansa?” Theon asked with a courtly bow.

She flushed, not sure what to say. She did not wish to appear rude and she did want to dance...just not with Theon. Her quandary was resolved though when Jon took her hand.

“She just agreed to dance with one with me,” he said gruffly, leaping to his feet. He turned his back to Theon and said more quietly, “ At least…I hope she’ll agree.”

His eyes were sweetly imploring as he fiddled with one of his suspenders. Sansa felt her face splitting with her grin. _Of course, I’ll agree!_

“I’m afraid I’m spoken for this dance, Theon.”

“The next perhaps then?” he asked, just this side of pushy.

Jon’s mouth formed what Sansa could only call a snarl. “I’m afraid I might be spoken for then as well,” she quickly said to avoid any unpleasantness between the men. Their circus was a family and, while the lads might engage in scuffles or an occasional punch might even be thrown, there was no place for such tonight.

Jon took her hint and ignored Theon, putting his arm around her waist and spinning her away.

 

* * *

 

“Some of ‘em are going to have a very hard time waking in the morning,” Jon chuckled as he walked her away from the bonfire later that night.

_Some of us will have a very hard time falling asleep_ , she thought as her pulse thrummed recalling the three dances they’d shared.

His arm was looped around her waist as they made their way back towards her car.

“I’m awful sorry about stepping on your toes, Sansa. I’m not much of a dancer. Don’t know what got into me. Must’ve been the champagne. Not that I’m blaming you for me drinking more than a I should or my…”

“It’s alright, Jon,” she said, smothering another hiccup. “I thought you did well. And, I’m afraid I’m rather unsteady as well. I’ll have a headache come the morning.”

“Drink plenty of water. It helps.”

She smirked at him and grasped his arm a bit tighter. They were nearly back to her car but she didn’t want to let him go. “How would you know that, Jon Snow?”

He grinned that lopsided grin of his with his eyes crinkled up, his handsome face making her heart do a dozen somersaults again. “I may have imbibed too much a time or two in my life.”

“A time or two?” she teased. She turned and suddenly their faces were very close. Her eyes were drawn to his lips and, when she looked back up, she saw his eyes directed at hers.

“Aye…a time or two,” he said hoarsely.

“And did you dance with pretty girls till they were dizzy then, too?” she asked breathlessly.

“No…not with girls like you. None so pretty as you.” They stood there swaying, staring at one another till another grin appeared. “I may have danced with a bear or two though.”

It only took a moment for her to catch on to his joke and they were soon laughing. And just as the laughter faded, he took her hand. She looked down at their joined hands and never wanted this night to end. Feeling braver than she even did upon the high wire, she leaned towards him. He met her half way.

Her eyes fluttered closed just as their lips met. His kiss was soft but firm. Their mouths moulded together as if they were meant for this and nothing else. Their hands and lips were the only parts touching. She wanted to melt into him.

A boisterous laugh from nearby had them scrambling apart. Sansa’s chest was heaving and she thought his might be, too. His eyes were black as night and he started rubbing at the back of his neck.

“Miss Sansa…that was…I shouldn’t’ve done that.”

“Shouldn’t’ve?” she repeated, still too dazed from the kiss.

“It’s not right. We’ve both had too much drink and aren’t thinking straight.”

She gasped as his words sunk in and humiliation filled her. He was stammering over more words but she couldn’t hear them. She had to get away before she started crying in front of him. Oh, why didn’t she just go straight to her car tonight?!

“Please, don’t say another word about it,” she said stiffly as the first blasted tear fell despite her efforts. “It was only the champagne. I won’t trouble you again.”

She raced the remaining distance to her car and ignored his attempts to call her back, to chase her down.

She could not ignore Ghost though. He was far too large and too fast for her to stop when he climbed into her car behind her, knocking more of her bottles and fripperies here and there. Jon only knocked once on her door but she did not answer. She was too busy hugging Ghost and silently crying her heart out.

 


	13. Chapter 13

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Jon has got some clearing up to do regarding that drunken kiss!

A painful groan worked its way past the soreness of his throat when Jon felt something jab at his foot. He rolled over to his other side, his whole body feeling stiff and unused as he pressed his cheek to the cool grass.

“Come on,” someone from above him said. “You gonna lay there all day or what?”

Jon cracked open one eye when he felt that very same someone kick at his boot again. The morning sun was painful, so he screwed both eyes closed before attempting anything remotely like getting up.

“If I’d’ve known you can’t handle yer drink, I never would’ve invited you to the bonfire!”

 _The bonfire._ Jon’s eyes opened with a series of rapid blinks as he sat up abruptly before letting out a moan and holding on to his tender head.

“Why’d you keep sleepin’ outside my sister’s car anyway?” Arya cocked her head as Jon looked up at her, framed by the agonizing sunlight.

“Ghost’s in there,” he said in a sleep-drenched croak.

It wasn’t a lie. But it weren’t the whole truth neither.

Arya shrugged. “Come on, get some grub to make you feel human again and then get yourself to the Big Top. Robb wants help with clear up.”

With that, she was off, leaving Jon alone with his watercolour memories which were slowly coming into focus the more he stared unseeing at a patch of daisies by his feet. He remembered the glow of the fire licking through Sansa’s hair. He remembered her honey-sweet voice as she sang. He remembered she’d agreed to dance with him more than once. And then he remembered holding her hand as his lips pressed against her own.

_Oh Gods._

The pleasant memory soured quickly when his mind brought him visions of her tears and echoes of her sniffles from within her train car. She hadn’t let him in. She’d ran away from him, leaving him there a little dumbfounded and feeling like the world’s most awful fool.

He’d wanted to kiss her, sure, but not like that – sweet as it was. Not while they were both under the sway of all those bubbles in that drink she’d brought. Not while he couldn’t be sure that she wanted that kiss too. Truly.

And then he’d gone and made things worse. Tripping over his words and not explaining himself right.

He needed to talk to her.

Jon looked behind him to her car. It was quiet inside, except for the occasional soft snore from his wolf. She needs the rest just as much as he did, though he has work to be getting on with.

Nearly everyone except for Robb Stark and Old Nan was nursing a sore head this morning it seemed. Jon had forced down some eggs and a chunk of bread before he was wincing at just how loud Robb’s voiced seemed to be, telling everyone what needed to be done today ahead of tonight’s performance.

Sansa and Ghost made an appearance about half an hour after Jon had entered the Big Top. His wolf hardly giving him a glance as he was up in the stands sweeping popcorn kernels and picking up the odd half eaten toffee apple.

Miss Sansa was the very picture of poise. If she were suffering this morning like the rest of them, you’d hardly know it to look at her. Ghost kept close to her side, keeping a vigil out as if assessing whether or not everyone else in the massive marquee were a threat to her. He glanced Jon’s way and held his stare for a while before huffing out a snort and turning away.

It was as if the beast knew that Jon had caused her tears last night. The feeling sat heavy on his chest as he stood there, work forgotten, watching as Sansa led Ghost over to the far ring to start a training session.

It was as though all the hubbub and muted muttering of everyone else faded away as she began to work. Ghost was attentive, his attention was for her and her alone. _Jus’ like you,_ Jon mused as he leant against his broom handle, any pretence of continuing his work forgotten.

Sansa asked Ghost to lay down, to which he obliged, his eyes tracking her as she slowly walked around him in a circle, her bare feet making deliberate and elegant pointed steps in the sand-covered ring. Once she was completely behind the wolf, he whined and got back up again, turning to have her in his sights once more. Sansa attempted the trick again, this time repeating the ‘down’ command while she stepped around him. Ghost complied this time and was rewarded with a treat to chomp on for his efforts.

After repeating this part of his training three more times, Jon held his breath when, on the fourth time, instead of just stepping around the giant beast, she stroked him whilst it looked as though she were cooing over the wolf and then finally, carefully straddling his back. Ghost continued to lay still, panting happily as if nothing were out of the ordinary.

“Well I’ll be,” Jon murmured to himself, absentmindedly removing his cap in awe. Ghost seemed more than happy to have Miss Sansa atop him, reaching forward and stroking the fur on his shoulders as she continued to whisper praises to the wild animal. Jon watched Sansa repeat the action of mounting the wolf twice more before he decided to go over and try to talk to her. They needed to clear the air about last night. She needed to know he’d not meant to cause those tears of hers.

“Miss Sansa,” he approached, holding his cap and his broom. She had been fussing over Ghost with her back to him and stiffened when she heard his voice. Jon felt himself wince at the reaction. Sansa gave him a quick glance and clipped ‘good morning’. “Miss Sansa, I want to apolo-“

“I’m working, Jon,” she interrupted, still not turning to face him.

The bite in her voice was sharp and Jon could tell she was in no mood for him right now. He sighed inwardly before jumping a mile at Robb Stark bellowing more instructions to all the hands to go see to the animals. He wanted to tell her that he’ll come find her later to talk when she has the time to spare him, but Jon suspects that she’d only try to avoid his company anyhow, so he slunk away without a word.

Throughout the day more glimmers of what happened beneath the stars were returning to him as he toiled in the mid-day sun, working up a sweat on his skin and a worry in his gut.

 _“Please, don’t say another word about it,”_ she’d snapped at him last night before her voice broke and wobbled. _“It was only the champagne.  I won’t trouble you again.”_

 _Trouble?_ Kissing Sansa Stark could hardly be called a trouble, what with how he was constantly reminding himself not to long to do it again.

His suspicions about her avoiding him for the day were proven true, since he’d seen neither hide nor hair of her except in the Big Top this morning. Rehearsals were winding down and preparation for this evening’s performance was underway when he caught her voice over the general hubbub of the circus site.

“ _Rickon Stark,_ you come back here!” Jon turned to see her across the way, over by Nan’s fortune telling tent, pressing her hands to her hips as she hollered for the boy who was striding away from his sister. Ghost was by her side again, watching on curiously. “You need to bathe properly! You could grow potatoes in that filth at the back of your neck!”

“You ain’t my ma, Sansa! Stop tryin’ t’ be!” he yelled back before breaking into a sprint, all gangly legs and wilful youth. Sansa’s arms fell loosely at her sides, clearly wounded from her brother’s words. She stared after Rickon for a while before noticing Jon and swiftly turning away – not before he caught her wiping furiously at her cheeks though.

He wanted to go over and comfort her but thought better of it since he clearly wasn’t in her good-books today. Instead, he sought out the younger Stark and found him sat crossed-legged in a pen with some of the younger, untrained hounds.

“Your sister’s right, you know,” he said, leaning his forearms atop the fencing. He got no response from the lad and Jon wondered if talking to Sansa might actually have proved to be the easier task. “Girls won’t like you if you smell bad neither,” he tried.

“I don’t care what girls like,” Rickon said sullenly, throwing a stick for one of the dogs to fetch.

Jon chuckled. “Trust me,” he said, looking up automatically to scan his surroundings for that pretty copper shade of hair, “you will.”

The boy shrugged and continued to pick at the grass. Sighing to himself, Jon climbed over to join him there on the floor. “She’s not tryin’ to replace your ma, you know,” he said quietly, “she loves you an’ she cares. That’s all.”

“I know,” Rickon said to his boots.

“You’re lucky. When I was growing up it was jus’ me and Ghost for the most part. I didn’t have no sister to make sure I was clean an’ fed. You, you got all these people here t’ look after you an’ see you right.”

The boy tugged a little more aggressively at a clump of grass. “I don’t need lookin’ after. I’m 12 now.”

“Everybody needs lookin’ after. Age don’t matter,” Jon snorted softly. “ _I_ needed it, before I got here. It’s nice t’ belong somewhere, don’t yer think?”

“I suppose.”

“Well, when you belong some place, you got t’ respect the people you belong with,” Jon said softly. “You can’t just do as you please an’ I think you might owe your sister an apology for what you said to her jus’ now.” Rickon stayed quiet. “You don’t want her to be upset, do you?”

“No.”

Jon sighed again. The boy would hardly look at him. “I tell you what,” he said, rubbing at his beard, “I could really do with some help bathin’ Ghost tomorrow.” Rickon raised his head with interest. “He’s not all that keen on it so there might be some wrestlin’ involved.”

“Wrestlin’ a wolf?! Can I help?!”

“ _If_ you wash up properly today _and_ go and apologise to Sansa.”

Rickon narrowed his eyes at him as he thought over the offer. “Deal,” he decided, poking out his hand to shake. After that, he quickly hopped over the fence and took three strides forwards before turning back. “Jon?”

“Yeah?”

“I… I didn’t mean to hurt Sansa’s feelings. It’s just… “ the boy shrugged as if that would suffice. Jon smiled and nod his head as one of the hounds started trying to chew at his boot.

“That was awful nice of you,” came a soft voice after Rickon had long scampered off. Jon’s heart thumped as he hurried to his feet and turned to see Sansa coming out from behind a wagon.

“How much d’ you hear?” he asked, brushing off bits of grass from his behind.

Sansa came up to the fence and offered him a small smile. He’ll take what he can get right about now so he was glad of it. “Enough to know that my little brother will be wrestling a wolf tomorrow.”

“Ghost don’t really mind getting’ a wash,” Jon confessed sheepishly, “I jus’ thought your brother might be more interested if it were more of a challenge.”

Sansa chuckled and looked to the grass beneath their feet. “You’d be right about that.”

“Sansa,” he started, “about last night –“

“We don’t have to talk about it.”

“We do,” Jon replied softly. Sansa didn’t argue so he moved a little closer and placed his hands on the fencing between them. “I shouldn’t’ve kissed you.”

Jon watched as she folded her arms defensively and shifted back ever so slightly. “If you don’t like me like that, then we can just forget it, Jon. It’s fine.”

Jon’s eyes widened. _Is that what she thinks?!_

“No, no… that’s not it,” he shook his head making Sansa slowly raise her gaze to meet his. He let out a breath before continuing. “A girl – any girl - shouldn’t be kissed unless… well, unless she wants that kiss…” Rubbing nervously at the back of his neck, he was aware he was about two stuttered words away from fucking this whole thing up again. “…and… last night… you were all caught up in the drink an’ the dancin’… and all that… and I mean, it’d be awful presumptuous of me t’ think that someone like you could want –“

“ _Someone like me?”_

“Well, yeah… you know… you’re…” he waved his hand up and down, indicating to her in all her beautifully put together gorgeous redheaded glory, “and I’m… well, _me_ …” Sansa’s brow wrinkled in clear confusion. “Shit. I’m not sayin’ this right am I?”

“So… you’re saying the only reason you regret what happened last night is because you can’t be sure that I really _wanted_ it to happen?”

“Yeah.”

She wasn’t saying anything more, wasn’t confirming to him that yes, she did want that kiss they shared last night, so Jon found his eyes dropping to his boots as he swallowed thickly. She didn’t owe him anything further he supposed. He just wanted things to go back to how they were before he’d been the cause of her tears.

“Thank you for telling me, Jon,” Sansa said in a soft voice.

“Are we friends again now?”

Her teeth sunk into her bottom lip, trying unsuccessfully to stop the spread of her beautiful smile. “Yes. We’re friends again.”

***

Jon was dumbfounded. She had an alarming habit of rendering him so. He’d awkwardly shuffled into her train car when Sansa had invited him to do just that. He was just about to hunker down beneath her window like he had done ever since joining the troupe almost three weeks ago when her head had popped out and beckoned him inside. He wasn’t sure what the purpose of him doing so would be, but he’d never imagined this.

“You made this… for me?” he croaked, still a bit thunderstruck as he stared at the brand-new shirt in his hands.

“Mm-hm,” Sansa nodded from where she sat on the floor brushing Ghost’s fur with one of her fancy-looking silver-handled brushes. “I had extra linen left over from makin’ new shirts for Robb and the boys, and… well I thought you looked as though you could do with a new one, so…”

It was true. The shirt on his back was one of only two to his name, and he’d come by both of those from a farmer’s hand-me-downs. No one had ever _made_ him anything. All new. All for him.

“I hope the fit is right,” she said, a little nervously, “I made it similar to Robb’s. If it’s not right, I can fix it. I do all the alterations for the performers and-”

“It’s perfect,” Jon interrupted, still holding out the garment as if in awe. “It’s… _thank you,_ Sansa. I don’t know what to say.”

She paused her brushing to beam up at him. “It’s only a shirt, Jon.”

“No one’s ever made anything like this for me,” he explained, “my mother was too busy workin’ three trades and didn’t have the coin to spare for new things. And then… well, you know the rest,” he trailed off a little, not keen on rehashing his sorrowful path in life up until now.

 _Not so sorrowful now_ , he thought, lowering the new shirt Sansa had made him to better see her cornflower blue eyes twinkling in the low lamplight of her train car. He swallowed thickly. “I really appreciate it.”

Smiling up at Jon, Sansa seemed pleased to have pleased him. She was the nurturing kind Jon had come to realise. It made him wonder if she needed a little nurturing herself. He slowly glanced around the small space. Her bed was full of handmade blankets and pillows of various colours. It looked like the perfect place to rest your head. Her wardrobe was almost over-spilling with the skirts of a few expensive-looking dresses bursting out from one of the doors. She obviously didn’t have the space for much, bar a few day dresses and all her performance wear. Jon wondered if those were the dresses that Lord Baelish makes her wear when he whisks her away for evenings amongst high society?

His gaze dropped to Sansa sat next to Ghost and he wondered what she thought of all that? He doesn’t think that she’s that keen on Baelish – not from how he’s heard her speak of him anyhow. But what of the soirees? The dances? The privileged classes and the well-to-do?

Jon felt himself frown before his eyes were drawn to the fripperies and doodads on her dressing table. There were a few elegant looking glass bottles in a few different colours, some strings of beads slung over the corner of her vanity mirror and one curious thing he had not expected to be there amongst the others.

“This is pretty,” he said, reaching for the small painted tin toy. It was a little carousel with three horses and a wind-up key that he presumed would make the thing twirl around and the horses bob up and down. It might even play music.

“It’s broken,” Sansa told him, standing up. “My mother got it for me for my name-day. But it doesn’t turn or play a tune any longer.”

Jon lifted the carousel up over his head to better look at the underside. “I could fix it for you.”

“I… you think you could?” She sounded hopeful, but unsure.

“I can try.”

Jon had managed to unhook the underside and was peering in to see the cogs and music-box of the inner-workings when he felt a warm hand on his forearm. “Please be careful with it,” she asked him. “I’ll trust you with it, but please, _please_ be gentle.” Her eyes fell to the carousel in his hands and then back up to search his face. “It means a lot to me.”

Jon nod his head. “Of course.” Somehow, he felt as though they weren’t just talking about a tin toy any more. His eyes met with her big blue ones as he swore solemnly, “I’ll take care of it, I promise.”

***

Tonight was the last performance The Stark Family Circus would hold at Highgarden before packing up and moving on to Ashford. Jon was a little apprehensive since tonight was also the first night that Sansa planned on riding Ghost in front of an audience. Sure, the animal had been agreeable to being led around the ring in front of people, and he was now quite happy to have Sansa perch prettily on his back as he walked leisurely through the circus site. But try as he might, Jon just knew that he wouldn’t let his worries about it all drift away until he’d seen for himself that Ghost was fine with all of that, all at once. And this wasn’t even the last of it. Robb Stark planned to have Sansa ride the wolf tonight, but he’s also been spouting ideas such as getting him to jump through hoops and have someone put their head in his jaws. Jon’s not sure about all of that neither.

Regardless of his worries, Jon finds himself in a rather chipper mood this morning. He’s been granted an hour or two off and he’s decided to spend it well. The sun beat down on him in his shirt that Sansa made as he walked along the dust track towards Highgarden town. He’d managed to carefully tinker about with that little tin carousel of hers and finds that two rather integral cogs have rusted over. He has those two cogs in his pocket and plans on visiting both the watchmakers and the ironmongers to see about purchasing some replacements. If those prove fruitless, then he shall have to pay a visit to a general store and buy some vinegar to see if he can’t get most of that rust off.

Jon’s whistling to himself of all things, the realisation making him smile like a fool as he continues walking with his hands shoved in his pockets, one set of fingers playing idly with the little rusty cogs.

He gets a less than warm welcome from the watchmaker. All his time-pieces seem to be made for classes way above Jon’s head and he swears that the old man with greying whiskers muttered something rather derogatory about circus folk under his breath as he left.

Jon makes to walk to the other end of the street, where the ironmongers is situated, but finds himself stopped outside the chemist on his way there. In the window display, there was a small, perfectly stacked pile of wax-paper wrapped, golden rose scented bars of soap. Sansa had mentioned something to him just two days past about not having enough time to add to her collection.

He decided to go in and finally spend some of his circus wages.

Pressing the bar to his nose, Jon inhaled the sweet floral scent. It was heady and pleasant, but not as pleasant as the way Miss Sansa already smelt, he thought.

Just as he was about to pick up his pace and resume his task to get those replacement cogs, Jon spotted a head of red hair on a woman sat on some steps outside a premises across the street. She had her head in her hands and seemed to be crying into something glitzy.

“Ros?” Jon ventured softly as he approached. She looked up and began frantically wiping away her tears as he neared. Her eyes were rimmed red.

“Hey sugar,” she said in pale imitation of cheery nonchalance.

Jon glanced up to the brass plaque on the door behind her. _‘Florent and Son Tailors and Dressmakers.’_ He was even more confused. “Has someone hurt you? Been rude to you?”

She snorted softly as she looked down to the spangled fabric in her hands. “You think I’d make a fuss any time anyone hurt me, or was rude?”

Jon wasn’t sure what to say to that, so he kept quiet. He’s not sure if that was the correct option however, since a new wave of tears trickled down Ros’ cheeks before she buried her blotchy face in the sequins.

He sat down on the step beside her. “Can I help? Do you want me to walk you back to site?”

“They’re refusing to alter my costume,” she said, waving the item in question between them.

Jon frowned. “Doesn’t Sansa-”

“She can’t!” Ros snapped. “She can’t… none of them can… they can’t _know_. Not yet. Not until I’ve saved more money. I need the work”

“Can’t know what? I don’t understand.”

Ros turned to face him, eyes shimmering and voice barely a whisper as she put her hand on her stomach. “They can’t know about my condition.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Vivi and I would love to say a big THANK YOU to all those who are still reading this story and leaving encouraging comments!


	14. Chapter 14

 

Sansa alighted from her car almost as soon as the train rolled to a stop but she still wasn’t as quick as the hands pouring out of theirs. She wondered if they were relieved to escape the close confines after being penned in together during the journey. She tried to catch sight of Jon but couldn’t make him out. It was no matter. He had work to do and so did she. They were to meet later.

 _“I hope to have your toy fixed for you by the time we arrive,”_ he’d murmured shyly after breakfast yesterday before they’d left Highgarden.

_“You think so?”_

_“Aye…should be ready once we reach Ashford. Nothing much to do aboard while we ride. Oh, and I got you this in town.”_ He’d handed her a bar of scented soap in fancy waxed paper with a golden rose stamped on it.

_“Jon, this is…this is so sweet of you.”_

_“I remembered you saying how you liked to, um…collect them. It smells sweet though not as…I’d, uh…best get back to work. I’ll see you tomorrow evening?”_ he’d stammered out as she’d stood there staring at the gift, the lovely fragrance already wafting to her nostrils.

She’d nodded with an undoubtedly dreamy expression before he’d walked away.

Her heart gave a giddy thump at the memory. It was not so much about the little carousel, though it was precious to her, it was more that he was spending his free time working on something for her. And the soap…he’d spent his hard earned money on something for her, gone looking for them in a shop he’d likely have never entered otherwise just for her.

 _Well, you did make him a shirt and he was quite pleased by that_ , she rationalized.

He’d been more than pleased, he’d seemed downright overwhelmed. The poor dear man really did need someone to look after him. And, Sansa wanted to be that someone more than she cared to admit. Maybe Jon Snow hoped to take care of her, too.

 _We’re friends_ , she reminded herself. It was unusual perhaps. Unmarried men and women forming friendships was not considered de rigueur in most classes but she supposed the egalitarian atmosphere of their circus family made it possible. And, one tipsy kiss did not a romance make though part of her might like to believe it could.

However, before they’d left Highgarden, she’d spotted him walking with Ros. They were apparently coming back from town the day before they were leaving which was simple enough for two folks headed the same place to walk together but she didn’t like the way they seemed to be caught up in some sort of serious talk. She recalled worrying that Jon would spend his wages on Ros.

 _He spent some of them on you, you ninny_.

Still, it had bothered her. Was she jealous?

 _That’s silly. I would merely be disappointed in him if he was the sort to visit girls like Ros for…companionship_.

She’d struggled to put it out of her mind for the rest of the day.

But then the next morning, he’d found her and spoken of the toy and given her the soap. He was so attentive and sweet. Could he really be the sort to dally with Ros? She didn’t like to think so and determined that she would not think ill of him for being friendly with Ros. She was part of their family, too.

Sansa looked for Jon once more but didn’t see him so she headed off to find her brothers and sister and help where she was needed.

Dressed in working clothes today, she still thought the yellow calico dress with dusty pink roses looked well enough on her. She tried telling herself it really didn’t matter if Jon liked the dress or not. She’d put her hair up in a serviceable bun. She told herself that he’d like it up as well as down and then pinched herself to remember that it didn’t matter one bit what Jon thought.

She headed down the line of train cars where wagons and animals were being unloaded to where she figured she’d find Robb, in the middle of everything.

She passed the dancers’ car. A window was open and she could hear one of the girls retching within. “Everything alright?” she called, standing on tiptoe but still well below the window.

“No!” a vexed-sounding voice answered. But then it was Ros who appeared. Her eyes widened when she saw Sansa. “I mean, I’m fine. Thanks.”

She was terribly pale looking and plainly sick but if she didn’t want to discuss it with her, that was fine. Was she discussing that with Jon? Why’d that make her uncomfortable? Sansa subtly pinched herself again and just hoped she’d be feeling better soon.

“Alright then. See you later?”

“Yeah…see you,” Ros croaked before she dashed from the window again.

Sansa found Robb afterwards, her brother already sweating as the mid-afternoon sunshine beat down upon them all. The mallets were making their steady beat as some of the men sang a working song amongst themselves. The mallets and deep voices, it made a sweet rhythmic sound all its own, she thought. She wondered if Jon ever sang.

A hasty but hearty meal would be served to empty bellies before everyone returned to labouring to get the Big Top up by nightfall.

“What can I do?” she asked.

Her brother grinned and kissed her cheek. “See that Rickon doesn’t commit any felonies.” She laughed. Her younger brother was scamp. “We’ve got things in hand. You do enough with the sewing and mending.”

“There’s time for sewing and mending at night.”

“Aye but summertime and long days are in our favour and everyone’s eager to be at it so they can take their ease once the sun sets. You should, too. Have you seen to your performance partner yet?”

“Lady or Bran?” she asked with a smirk.

“Neither. I was thinking of Ghost.”

The direwolf had performed beautifully throughout their run in Highgarden. She suspected word had reached Ashford of the new act based on the number of curious onlookers that had already gathered just beyond the fields Robb had found for their show. But there were new acts being planned and Sansa would need to practice them.

“I’ll go and find him if I can and then…”

She trailed off as she recognized two of the onlookers. They’d crossed over the makeshift fence and were headed her way. One was slender and handsome, dressed as fashionably as Theon Greyjoy might be. The other was a large, stocky man in a good suit wearing a smile that seemed incongruous with his rugged face and square jaw. She had other work today, it would appear.

“What in seven hells are they doing here?” Robb scowled.

That would not do. Any markedly impolite behaviour towards Lord Baelish’s men would be reported to him. One does not annoy their creditor’s friends.

“Marillion,” she said with a nod, stifling her sigh as the handsome young singer approached. “What brings you here to Ashford?” _As if I do not know_.

“‘Ello, Birdie. Lord Baelish has sent us along to find you. You’ve a command performance tonight for the lords and ladies of the town.”

She hadn’t thought Petyr would expect her to perform for his friends without him around. She’d thought wrong apparently.

“My sister has rehearsing to do.”

“You don’t open the show for three days,” Lothor Brune said to Robb. “Lord Baelish insists.” Sansa wouldn’t put it past Lothor to carry her there over his shoulder if Lord Baelish insisted.

“Shall I collect you at seven?” Marillion asked.

She put a placating hand on Robb’s elbow before he could snap again. “I’ll be ready.”

Rehearsing with Ghost might have to wait a day and she’d have to miss supper to prepare. _And, I’ll likely miss seeing Jon_ , she thought with a sigh she couldn’t stifle this time.

 

* * *

 

 

“Where were you last night?”

She startled and Ghost rolled to his feet, knocking her to the ground. She’d been working on getting him to lie down with her lying on top of him. He was completely fine with her lying on him, it was just getting him to stay still that was the problem.

“Whoa, boy! Watch what you’re doing,” Jon barked at his friend. “I’m sorry.” He helped her to her feet and she told herself to ignore how that made her feel all fluttery.

“No harm done,” she said, dusting off her backside. Jon had his hands shoved in his pockets now and he looked somewhere between cross and worried. She recalled he’d asked a question. “I had to perform last night but…”

“You had to perform? Didn’t notice no folks coming to see a show last night. We ain’t opening for two more days.” He was scuffing at the sawdust with his booted foot, his eyes on the ground. Was he upset with her?

“Oh, this was a private performance. I’m very sorry we were never able to meet yesterday. Did you…”

“Yeah, I fixed it,” he said gruffly, pulling her carousel from his trouser pocket. His eyes looked sad as he passed it to her.

She was puzzled by his behaviour but couldn’t resist turning the tin toy’s little knob. In a heartbeat, the bittersweet tune tinkled from the cogs and wheels within, a homey, tinny sound, and the horses pranced ‘round their pole once more. A hundred childhood memories came to mind of her parents and happier days. Her eyes filled with tears till she couldn’t see the little horses turning any longer.

She felt Jon taking her by the arm and leading her away from the centre ring where other folks were rehearsing. She sat down heavily on the last row, close to the canvas wall where it was darker and no one would see her tears. Jon was standing over her, blocking her from the others. She heard Ghost panting behind him.

“I’m sorry. I never thought I’d hear the tune again.” She glanced up at him and wiped her eyes. “Thank you, Jon. It’s perfect. It means more to me than you could guess.”

“You’re welcome.” He smiled tentatively but he was still clearly troubled.

“I sang at a party for Lord Ashford and some of his friends. Lord Baelish… _asked_ that I attend. It would not be wise for me to say no.” _Can I say no to him at all once we reach_ _Kings Landing?_

“I didn’t know Lord Baelish had returned.”

“He hasn’t. He wired two of his men and sent them to fetch me.”

“So that jackanape in the fancy purple coat was just escorting you to the party on behalf of his lordship?”

“Marillion? Oh, yes. He’s a singer, too. He was…” Her eyes narrowed. He hadn’t even met Marillion. He was a jackanape but how would Jon know that? “I told you of our debts,” she whispered.

“I know but your dress was…” Her eyebrows raised quizzically and he had the decency to blush. “I never seen you in a dress like that. I never seen you on the arm of a man dressed like that neither.”

She’d worn her dark green silk dress with the low neck and black satin gloves that came up to past her elbows. She’d figured at least she wouldn’t have to keep Lord Baelish’s unwanted attentions at bay. She’d not counted on Ser Edmund Ambrose and Ser Matthew Mullendore though. She wouldn’t speak of that to Jon. She’d been engaged to perform again before opening night. She’d have to wear the high-collared scarlet gown of satin next time. Neither dress resembled the clothes she wore most of the time.

How had Jon even seen her when she’d never seen him at all yesterday except when she’d seen Ros bringing him a mug of water? He hadn’t seen her though. _Doesn’t matter. Focus on the conversation at hand._

“I’m sorry, Sansa. I was…I saw you going off with him in your gown and I got to listening to…I’m sorry.”

Got to listening to gossip was the unspoken part of that. He was the one getting chummy with Ros but he’d been listening to talebearers and come to ask where she’d been.

“The lads do like to talk, I know. Did they tell you how Princess earns her finery with her voice…or in other ways?” she hissed.

“I didn’t believe none of it,” he said, raising his hands in surrender.

“Right. You just came to ask me where I was last night,” she said, her anger boiling over. “Sounds more like you just hoped they were wrong and came to try and confirm it which isn’t the same thing at all as just having faith in a person like I’m trying to do with…” She bit her tongue before she could say more. “I’ve work to do,” she huffed.

She rose to her feet, the carousel momentarily forgotten and she hurried away from him and his impertinent questions.

But before she could escape the darkened pews, he grasped her by the hand, spinning her to face him. He was inches away, his grey eyes full and pleading and his breath coming in short pants.

“I was jealous, alright?! I didn’t believe their tales about Baelish but…I saw you and the other fellow and I…I got jealous.” He let go of her hand and stamped his foot. “I’m sorry. I asked Pyp who he was and soon some of the others were saying things. I didn’t want to believe none of them but he was young and handsome and you were smiling at him as you left.” She scowled at him. “Not that you can’t smile at another man! Shit…” He scrubbed at the back of his neck, his face as sheepish as Rickon’s when he’d misbehaved. “I didn’t believe them. I nearly punched Grenn. I _did_ punch Halder for the things he said and then I walked off. I stayed outside your train car for over an hour waiting for you to come back but…you didn’t. You didn’t come back and I was still angry at them all and…”

“I was kept very late. The lords don’t keep working hours. Their parties run as late as they please and the entertainment must perform until she’s no longer wanted,” she said bitterly. “My throat has been sore all morning.”

“I’m sorry. You should have some tea with honey or…”

“I know how to care for a sore throat.”

“‘Course you do. I just meant to…”

“You punched Halder?”

“Yeah. He’d had a bit of liquor last night. He apologized this morning for what he said and I apologized for punching him. We made amends.”

“Well…good. Robb doesn’t like for any of you to fight. I don’t care for it either,” she said but the censure was half-hearted.

He was jealous. He’d fought with one of the lads for saying things about her. He’d thought Marillion handsome, didn’t like her smiling at him and got jealous. Why would he be jealous? Why, indeed?

“Sansa, I’m sorry. I worry over you going off to perform for the fancy folk. I know how they think, like the rest of us are all just things they can buy up when it pleases them and cast aside when they grow bored again.” There was something to the way he said it that made her think he might be speaking from personal experience. “Anyway, I don’t like to think of anyone taking advantage of…my friend.”

_Friend…yes, friend._

“Please forgive me for sounding accusing and hurting your feelings again. I don’t mean to be such an arse but I can’t seem to think straight when it comes to you sometimes.”

She felt that familiar pitter-patter from his words but couldn’t help laughing at his pitiable expression. “You’re forgiven. I appreciate your concern for me, I do.”

“So, I guess you need to get back to rehearsing after I’ve come along and made a fool of myself?”

“Not yet. I need to put this somewhere safe first,” she said, picking her carousel back up. She started to walk away but then glanced over her shoulder where Jon was muttering to himself and still looking miserable. “I think some of the things I have in mind for Ghost might be better to practice away from everyone else. I was thinking of going down to that little grove by the creek across the field to practice tomorrow afternoon. If you’re not too busy, perhaps you could assist me.”

“It’d be my pleasure to help you, Sansa.”

“Good. I’ll bring sausages for Ghost. I could pack us a little something to take along…in case we get hungry while we work.”

“I’d…I sure would like that.”

Sansa felt lighter than air as she glided to her train car and put her beloved tin toy back where it belonged. She sat at her vanity, watching the little horses spin around and played the tune once more. She thought of her dear mother and wished she was here to talk to about things.

“Mama, there’s a man I think I might be falling in love with,” she whispered.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you for reading!


	15. Chapter 15

“You should tell them, you know,” Jon said as he sat his backside down on the grass beside Ros. She had found a shady spot with her back against the brightly painted peanut stand. Jon had just finished washing Ghost down in a nearby stream with help from Rickon. The lad had been a little disappointed that the wolf had been so compliant, and no wrestling was needed. A lot of the other entertainers were taking a trip into Ashford, but Ros had chosen to stay behind.

She lolled her head lazily to the side to peer at him. “It’s a good job you’re handsome, sugar,” she said, reaching over to pat his knee with a smile on her face, “because you ain’t too smart.”

They’d been darting in and out of this subject since he’d found her that day in Highgarden, tears on her cheeks and a devastating secret on her lips. He decided to drop it again. For now.

“You get any sleep last night?” Jon had hardly needed to ask, he could see the purplish circles beneath her eyes.

“Scarcely a wink.”

“Old Nan says lavender oil can help.” Ros’ brows scrunched together at that. “I told her a fib. Said I was havin’ trouble sleepin’,” Jon answered with a shrug.

Ros clicked her tongue as she pulled a small daisy from the grass between them, twirling it idly in her fingers. “Ain’t no oil gonna help me.”

“You gonna go into town and find a doctor?”

Huffing a little from her nose, Ros turned to look at him and shook her head with a smile. “Now what would I be needin’ one of those for?”

“I heard you retchin’ as the sun came up, and then again after morning rehearsal,” Jon shrugged. She’d sounded like she was going through hell and worse.

“Haven’t been ‘round many expectin’ women, have you?” Ros grinned, obviously trying her best to make light of the situation.“It’s perfectly normal to get a little… queasy from time to time, handsome.” He didn’t like when she called him that. It felt as though she’d put on her flatterer’s tongue like she does to drum up business among ‘her boys’. Jon must’ve been scowling as he often catches himself doing because Ros had noticed. “What’s the matter?”

“You can just call me Jon, you know,” he told her, plain as day.

“Well where’s the fun in that? Besides, even though you arehandsome, you know I’m only teasin’ on account of you not wantin’ my company.”

Jon rolled his eyes. “I like your company fine.”

“You know what kind of company I’m referring to, handsome,don’t play coy,” she nudged him with an elbow and Jon willed his face not to turn red.

“I’m not-“

“I know, I know. You’re too busy making moon-eyes at Miss Sansa to let your head be turned even for a few minutes.” It was on the very tip of his tongue to refute that, though he knew that anything he might say to the contrary would be huge stinking lies. Ros hadn’t given him room to argue the point though as she ploughed on. “And that’s all it’d take you know,” she continued with a wink and a wicked grin on her red painted lips. “A few minutes. I take my job very seriously and I’m very good at it.”

Jon chuckled despite himself, supposing that Ros must be used to bawdy talk. He shook his head again. “Can’t we just be friends?”

Looking down at the daisy still twirling back and forth between her fingers, Jon watched Ros smile to herself. “A friend would be nice,” she agreed in a quiet voice, her bravado and cheek all gone. She cleared her throat to speak a little louder, a little surer too. “And, speaking as a friend, Jon, I wouldn’t pin your heart to Miss Sansa if I were you.”

Jon felt himself frown. He wanted to ask why he shouldn’t do such a thing, but that then meant giving the game away about how he truly felt. Not that he’s been doing a good job of hiding it. Apparently.

“Robb Stark won’t take kindly to anyone messin’ around with his sister,” she supplied without him having to ask.

Jon felt himself prickle a bit at that as he squinted out towards some folks making their way back to camp from their outing in town. “I don’t wanna mess around with her.”

Ros snorted. “All men want to mess around with a pretty girl like that.” Standing to brush the loose grass from her backside,she turned to face him still sat propped against the peanut stand. “And then messing around turns into something rather messy for the pretty girl,” Jon watched her absentmindedly stroke her still flat belly.

“I would never take a risk like that. I wouldn’t do that to her.”

Ros raised her hands in surrender. “I’m just giving you some advice, Jon. From one friend to another.”

She started to walk away before he called out. “Hey, Ros?”

“Yeah?”

“Can I give you some advice in return?”

“Sure,” she said, crossing her arms and waiting for his pearls of wisdom as he squinted up at her.

“Let Robb Stark know,” he said, pointedly nodding his head in the direction of her stomach. “They count you as part of their family, they won’t make you leave the troupe.”

Ros chuckled and bent down to talk in a low tone even though they were far from anyone else. “I’ll tell the Starks ‘bout me bein’ in the family way if you promise that you are not, and never will be in love with our very own Miss Sansa Stark.”

Jon could see the twinkle in her eyes as he narrowed his own. She’d got him there. And she knew it. He worried at his lip with his teeth before shaking his head and trying to seem nonplussed. “Sure,” he shrugged.

Straightening, Ros threw her head back and laughed heartily. “It’s a good job you’re pretty, ‘cause you can’t lie ‘bout her for toffee!” she threw at him over her shoulder as she walked away.

***

Jon spied Sansa sat having her midday meal on one of the beat-up benches outside the cook tent. She was wearing a long thin jacket as a cover-up to what Jon suspected must be one of her performance costumes, synched at the waist. Sansa wasn’t tucking into much, just a small bowl of something broth-like and barely a hunk of bread. It reminded him that they’d be eating together later on in the afternoon after he helps her with Ghost’s training. She hadn’t called it a picnic, per se, but Jon fancied that it’d be one. He wondered if she’s fixing to bring one her handmade blankets to sit on?

“What is it today?” he asked, seating himself down beside her. Miss Sansa started a little, having not noticed him approach. Ghost appeared from out of Old Nan’s cook tent, his chops working on something the beast obviously found delicious. His red eyes scanned him and Sansa both, before turning his head to go back inside, clearly thinking with his belly today.

“Nan says it’s lamb,” Sansa frowned down at her bowl as the spoon dipped into the brownish savoury liquid, “but I’m pretty sure it’s mutton.”

“It’s matured lamb,” Old Nan said, clicking her tongue as she waddled from the chow tent. She carried a bowl and another hunk of bread which she sat down in front of Jon. Ghost was following alongside her small, hunched over frame, pleading patiently with little whimpers and whines at every step, even though he was very much capable of taking whatever he wanted from the elderly woman.

Jon furrowed his brow at the food set before him. “You’ll need to keep your strength up,” Nan answered, as if this were explanation enough before she reached over to pat him affectionately on the cheek, and then did the same to Sansa beside him. There was a glow of excitement behind the old woman’s watery eyes that prompted Jon to look to Sansa, and she to him, both mirroring each other’s expression of confusion. “Come on, beast,” Nan whistled, tapping her thigh and turning back towards the tent, “let’s see what Old Nan can find for you.” Ghost didn’t need to be told twice.

“What was all that about?”

Sansa shook her head after the elderly woman. “I’ve no idea,” she said, dipping some bread into her broth. “Just when you think you’re used to Nan and her ways, she’ll do something to surprise you.”

Jon watched as she continued tearing neat little pieces of bread,delicately coating them in the steaming broth before they were demurely popped into her mouth. Her lips looked faintly peachy-pink today and Jon wondered if she’d painted them. She’s not the type of gal to wear a scarlet or a bright berry red on an ordinary day such as this. But peaches were nice too. Sweet and juicy, Jon thought to himself before he could put a stop to his own musings as he inelegantly stuffed a chunk of bread into his own mouth. “You believe in all that? Fortune telling an’ all?” he asked, chewing faster so he could swallow and stop being such an uncouth swine when around Miss Sansa.

“I’m not sure. But she can be scarily accurate sometimes.” Sansa said, offering him a smile that he felt himself return.

Jon’s eyes followed the path of her fingers, tearing, dipping, travelling up to her lips. The last morsel had coated her thumb. He watched her suck the digit clean of broth before he swallowed the lump in his throat and said the first thing that came to his head. “She told me that I belonged to someone,” he blurted. “I ain’t never belonged to anyone before.”

Sansa’s lips twitched into a smile before her palm came down to rest gently on his forearm. He liked having her hand there. He’d like having Miss Sansa’s hands anywhere if truth be told. “It’d be nice to belong to someone though, wouldn’t it? And have someone to belong to you?” she said, a kind upward turn to her pretty peachy lips.

Gods! Her eyes were so blue. Jon wondered if they had always been that way or perhaps his own eyes were playing tricks on him due to the fact that his heart seemed to be working double-time for some reason. He glanced down to where her delicate hand still rested and licked at his lips a little nervously. Robb Stark won’t take kindly to anyone messin’ around with his sister,Ros’ words echoed in his mind, causing him to look up at the same time as the woman herself passed them by with her own bowl of broth and hunk of bread. Ros looked somehow both as white as a sheet and green to the gills. He watched her go over to the farthest table and seat herself there. Alone.

Sansa’s hand slipped from its place atop his arm.

“Hey,” Jon said, clearing his throat, his brows pinched together as he glanced down, playing with his food, “you consider all the circus folk a kind of family, right?”

“Of course,” she sniffed, not looking at him at all now and concentrating on her spoon. “That’s what Mama and Daddy taught us. To look after our family,” her voice was quiet amongst the low chatter of the others taking their meal.

Jon leaned to his side to better talk to her, although he was still keeping an eye on how wretched poor Ros seemed to look today.He was trying not to be too obvious about who it was he was talking about, but he was rather concerned for his friend. “And if… if someone got themselves into a… difficult situation…you’d support them, wouldn’t you?”

“Well now, that depends… but sure, Robb would try to help any way he could.”

Jon’s jaw tightened. Greyjoy had joined Ros, sat right next to her, his legs straddling the bench so he could face her. Ros gave him a waning smile, a small, cursory thing. She didn’t seem to want his company. Not right this moment anyhow.

Jon knew that she hadn’t given up turning tricks yet. She said she needed all the money she could get her hands on to save for when the Starks finally got wind of the babe and would leave her high and dry. But he also knew that she’d been turning some business away when she weren’t feeling too good. Today looked like one of those times.

But Greyjoy seemed to have other plans. He didn’t appear to begetting the subtle clues she was dropping his way by closing herself off, not indulging him in his flirtations like she normally does and keeping her head down to eat and be done with it. She wasn’t flinching or moving away from him exactly – she couldn’t afford to do that. She might want to take his coin at a future date after all.

“Are you in…“ Sansa started, her head bowed and her words trailing off as she too glanced over to Ros briefly, “… a…difficult situation, Jon? You haven’t spent all your earnings and find yourself in debt to someone have you?”

“Me?” he turned to her, a little dazed by those blue eyes again. “No, no, not me.”

“Come on, darlin’, don’t be like that,” Jon heard Greyjoy’s voice over the murmur and scrape of spoons on the bases of tin bowls.

“Excuse me please, Miss Sansa,” he said, standing without much thought. Before he knew it, he was stood in front of Ros, who was forcing a smile for the benefit of her unwelcome table companion. “Ros,” Jon said interrupting them, “Stark says he wants a word about rehearsals. Something about switching up the routine,” he lied.

Ros looked to him gratefully, clambering from her seat. “Perhaps I’ll see you a little later, sugar,” she called over her shoulder to Greyjoy before Jon walked her away from the chow tent. “Thank you,” she whispered, knocking her elbow playfully into his as they left the area on the pretence of finding Robb Stark. When Jon glanced backwards, Sansa’s table was left empty.

***

“Well,” Jon sighed, “do you have any inkling at all as to who the daddy is? Maybe he could help?” He and Ros had ducked down behind the dancer’s train car. She was sat on an upturned tin washtub and he stood leaning his shoulder against the car with his helpless hands shoved into his trouser pockets.

Ros squinted up at him with a smirk. “What can I say? I’m very popular,” she offered by way of explanation. “Besides, you think any of my boys wanna make an honest woman of me even if I knew which one of them put this baby in my belly?” Jon didn’t have an answer for that. “No,” she shook her head with a dismissive snort, “I’ve always just been a goodtime gal to them. Nothing more.”

Jon scratched at the back of his neck unhelpfully, not really surehow best to respond to that. He knew a thing or two about feeling unworthy. “How far along are you?”

“I’m not sure,” she shrugged, “three, maybe four moons.”

“When will you…” Jon made a rounded gesture with his hand hovering over his own belly as he looked to Ros’. “When will people be able to tell?”

“Soon… very soon.”

Jon shook his head. “Look,” he said, pushing off from where he was leaning against the train car, “Sansa said that her brother would try to help any way that-“

“Of course Princess said that,” Ros snorted. Jon frowned at her tone. “She doesn’t have to deal with real shit like the rest of us.”

“Don’t call her that.” He felt himself scowl, “And I think Miss Sansa and her whole family have been through enough real shit, don’t you? What with her Mama and Papa gone.”

Ros rubbed at her forehead. “You’re right. That’s not…” she let out a long breath before putting on a rather forced smile to look up at him, the sunlight making her squint some. “Don’t listen to me, Jon. I’m just a whore in trouble with no one to turn to. I don’t mean half the things I say.”

“You do have someone to turn to. Talk to Robb. He’ll understand.”

“He doesn’t owe me nothin’. He’s not gonna keep me on. That’s not the way things go for a girl like me.”

“You don’t know that.”

“Jon, stop. Just stop.” She sounded as exasperated as Jon felt.

Pressing his lips together, he glanced down to his boots in the longer grass before raising his head along with his eyebrow. “Thought you said I shouldn’t listen to what you say anyhow?”

Ros reached out to lightly slap his leg. “You’re a cheeky shit, Jon Snow. Has anyone ever told you that?” she said, somehow managing to scowl and grin at the same time.

“I may have heard that a time or two, yeah,” he smiled back.

Idly kicking at a clump of grass, Jon decided for one last push to try and help his friend. “Look,” he said, his voice some kind of shade of seriousness, “you said so yourself that folk’ll start noticin’ that you’re…” ‘knocked up’ he wanted to say but wondered if he should be more delicate about it, “… they’ll see your condition for themselves soon enough, yeah?” Ros nodded. “And Robb Stark’ll decide what he’s to do with you once he finds out, and the only reason you’re not tellin’ him is because you wanna continue gettin’ more coin outta the likes of Greyjoy an’ Grenn for as long as you can?”

“Yes.”

“Well, how’s that workin’ out for you right now?” She blushed and looked away. Jon thought it mighty odd that a woman would do such a thing over knowing they’d been caught turning awaythe advances of men, but he suspected that it had more to do with the fact that Ros knew he was right. “You ain’t been… entertainin’ as much as you can on account of feeling wretched. So why bother waitin’ at all for folks to cotton on to-“ he nod his head towards her belly. “Just… I don’t see the point in waitin’,” he shrugged.

Ros looked up to him, one hand to her brow to shield from the sunlight. “Because I’m scared, Jon.”

***

The heat clung to Jon as soon as he stepped foot inside Robb Stark’s train car. He had the blinds rolled down to try and deter even more warmth from the sunlight but the effort didn’t seem to be doing much in Jon’s opinion.

A table was pulled out into the middle of the space to act as the man’s desk and at one end there seemed to a screen that Jon supposes separates Robb’s bed and personal belongings from his working area. It wouldn’t do for folks to come in on official circus business only to be confronted by a man’s sleeping area, after all.

Once Jon’s eyes adjusted to the dim light in the car, he saw the man in question sat at his desk reading a newspaper. “Jon,” he nodded in greeting before his eyes flit to Ros coming in behind him. She’d finally relented on telling her secret to the boss man and asked that he accompany her to do so. Though, quite what good he’ll do by being there, Jon does not know.

Just then, a head of copper hair pokes out from behind the panelled dressing screen and Sansa greets him with a smile that he returns easily, until her eyes flit to Ros and that smile slides clean off her face. Jon frowned to himself. He wasn’t aware of any kind of ill feelings between the two women. But what would he know of it anyhow? Sansa ducks back behind the screen and calls out, “Do you want me to patch up the knee in these riding breeches too, Robb?” Her brother voices his agreement and gratitude, never taking his eyes from the newspaper.

“We’ve been getting some good reviews,” Robb carries on as both Jon and Ros find a seat. He opens a drawer to retrieve some scissors and begins to cut out a rectangular shape in the paper. “And they very much like your wolf,” he pauses to wave the scissors in an accusatory fashion, “so I hope this isn’t you come to tell me that you’re leavin’ us?”

“No,” Jon smiled before looking to Ros, hopefully prompting her to find her courage and speak.

“Actually, Mr Stark,” she said after taking a deep breath, her fingers and thumbs twiddling together nervously in her lap, “I’ve come to talk to you about me.”

“That so?” Robb looked up to her. “You’re not leaving our family, are you Ros?” Robb Stark seemed genuinely concernedby the notion. Which Jon counted as a positive.

“I hope not,” Ros swallowed. “I’m… well… I’m in the family way.”

There was a gasp and something clattered to the floor behind the panelled screen. Before anyone could say anything, Sansa dashed passed them to the door murmuring something about needing some air. Everyone’s eyes followed her before Robb Stark was heard clearing his throat.

“I see,” he said rubbing at his jaw. He looked to Jon. “And you’re going to do right by her?”

“Me?!” Jon spluttered. “Oh, no, it’s not-“

“He ain’t the daddy,” Ros quickly supplied but a horrid sinking sensation twirled low in Jon’s gut. “He ain’t never been one of my-“ she paused, knowing that although Robb was most likely aware of how she supplemented her circus income, it wasn’t exactly right or polite to talk about it so plainly with one’s boss. “Jon’s never been intimate with me. We’re just friends,” she nodded her head resolutely.

“I see,” Robb Stark repeated. “And what of the father? Will hedo right by you?” Ros averted her eyes and blushed profusely which seemed to get the message across. “Ah,” he said, getting the measure of the situation. “Have you seen a physician?”

“No, sir.”

“I’ll find one for you.”

That sinking feeling in Jon’s stomach had only grown and curdled as he watched the two talking until his mind connected those blasted dots before him. Oh shit. Oh shit-shit-shit! He was out of his seat and reaching the doorway in the space of a heartbeat.

The sun was blindingly high in the sky when he scanned thecircus site, all while his blood pulsed thunderously in his ears. Some hands were busy fixing some fencing, someone was carrying paint pots to go touch up the vibrant colours of their signs, a trainer was working one of their newer horses with long reigns and the calliope machine was getting a good polish. Everyone was busy, everyone had their jobs to do, and Jon could think of only one thing that he needed to accomplish right now. Suddenly, he spotted the huge white form of his wolf slipping between the hand’s cars and out towards the open end of the field. Beyond that, he could see what, or rather who Ghost was following.

She seemed to be headed for the little grove by the creek that they were to have their picnic at later today. Jon’s sure his feet hadn’t carried him this fast in a very, very long time.

Reaching the thicket of white-barked birch trees, Jon soon figured that where he could see Ghost pacing back and forth between the silvery trunks must be where Sansa had ended up. He passed blooms of deep red dragon’s breath and little yellow goldencup flowers sprouting from the feet of the birches. He might think to pick a few for Miss Sansa, but right now his words were needed more than some silly gift.

She was sat at the base of one tree, her head lifting when Ghost had snorted and wagged his great tail at his friend’s arrival. Sansa hastily got to her feet and wiped at her pink looking cheeks. “Congratulations,” she breathed. Her forced smile and watery eyes were painful to see.

“S’not mine!” he said in a rush. “The baby, it’s not mine.”

A little burst of breath escaped Sansa’s parted lips as Jon stood there, staring at her. “Are you…” Jon watched her brow knit together and her opal white throat bob as she swallowed, “… are you stepping in to-“

He shook his head. Why on earth would I do such a thing? Claim parentage of a babe that weren’t mine? Unless… Sansa thinks that there is an attachment there?

“She doesn’t mean anything to me,” he blurted, cheeks colouring red. Sansa frowned. “No,” Jon shook his head once more, closing his eyes in frustration with his own darn mouth. You’re fucking this right up, aren’t you? “That’s not what I meant. Ros… she’s just a friend. I went with her to see your brother just as a friend.”

“Ros has plenty of… friends,” Sansa eyed him suspiciously.

“I know. This ain’t like that.”

Some of the tension seemed to melt from Sansa’s shoulders but still she said nothing. She’d been afraid to hear that he’d visited Ros he realised. Could that be jealousy? Jon told himself not to be a fool. A lady like Sansa would simply find the whole thing uncomfortable knowledge. That’s all. It’s nothing to do with him in particular. Nevertheless, his blasted mouth started moving without his permission.

“I’ve never touch her. Never… laid with her,” Jon glanced down to the dragon’s breath blooms peering up at him right beside his boots before raising his head to see Sansa’s big cornflower blue eyes. Before he knew what was what, he heard himself say, “I’ve never laid with anyone.” Suddenly rather self-conscious, his hands decided to shove themselves into his pockets.

“You haven’t?”

“No.” Gods, his face was on fire now. Why was he telling her this?

Sansa titled her head in curiosity. “But you’re so-“ she held her tongue, her own cheeks glowing a mighty lovely shade of deep pink.

“I’m so…?”

“…handsome.” She couldn’t meet his eye when she said the word and suddenly Jon didn’t mind that description so much. Not when it came from her. “What did Robb say? About Ros and the baby?” she asked, and Jon only just now realised that he’d bolted out of there like a racing hare, not waiting to hear his friend’s fate. He shook his head at himself. Some friend you are.

“He said he’d help find a doc to look her over, make sure everythin’s alright.”

Sansa smiled at that.

“Do you think he’ll let her stay?”

“I do,” she beamed at him. “It’ll be nice to have a baby around again. We haven’t had any for a long while.”

“You like kids, don’t you?”

Sansa nodded her head with enthusiasm. “Yes. I want to have at least half a dozen.”

“Half a dozen?!”

“Uh-huh. At least half a dozen,” she bit down on her lip, unsuccessfully hiding her smile. “How about you? Would you like children of your own some day?”

At first, Jon’s stomach tightened and a prickly edge of discomfort rolled around inside him. Being a father was something he’d never really allowed himself to consider, what with having nothing to offer to secure himself a wife and vowing to never get a bastard on some poor girl. But seeing Sansa’s face light up at the prospect was something wonderful, and he allowed himself to ponder, just for a small moment, what it might be like to have a piece of that particular brand of wonderful for himself. “About half a dozen should do it,” he said, clearing his throat.

Sansa smirked. “At least?”

“At least,” he confirmed. They were grinning at each other like a pair of half-wits, but Jon’s not sure he had it in him to care.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> We’d love to hear from you if you enjoyed the update! :)


	16. Chapter 16

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sansa faces mounting worries about how to handle Baelish and his associates. But later, she'll do her best to forget her troubles while on her picnic with Jon and Ghost.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Just a heads up-there's a brief scene of Marillion getting aggressive/suggestive with Sansa before someone comes along to interrupt.

 

Despite a rather miserable start to the afternoon, their picnic was still going ahead as planned now that Jon had explained a few things and Sansa was smiling as she made her way back towards her train car. She needed to change if she was truly going to practice riding Ghost and also she’d have to pack them food as promised.

It was silly of her to think Ros’s baby was his considering he’d not been with them all that terribly long. Then again, she wasn’t sure how far along Ros was. Perhaps she’d have to have a chat with her and find out. A woman with a baby on the way and no man by her side would need her family’s support after all, no matter how she’d found herself in that pickle.

But after getting her hopes up just yesterday with regards to Jon, it had caused her doubts again to see him walking along with Ros earlier and then it had stung terribly for him to abandon her to go to Ros during the midday meal but she supposed he’d only been worried over his friend. He’d come around quick enough to explain himself at least.

And though it was none of her business, his admittance that he’d not laid with anyone at all pleased her to no end. _Should I have confessed something similar?_ She blushed to even think of speaking of such a thing to Jon. It was not a topic of polite conversation. _And admitting you want a bunch of children is?_ She flushed a brighter red.

“Sansa!”

She turned and saw Robb striding towards her with a determined look. She gulped and smoothed down her skirts. She’d darted out of his car believing that Jon and Ros had come to him as a couple and what would Robb think about that? And apparently, Jon had soon followed after her. Her brother would’ve noticed.

“Robb,” she said, pasting on a sunny smile, “I’m sorry I ran off without finishing the mending earlier. It was so stuffy and I just needed a bit of fresh air. I hope Ros is well. Do you need me to help you find a doctor?”

“Never mind that now, Sansa. That fancy arse singer has returned asking for you.”

“Marillion?”

“Yes. I started to run him off.”

“Robb, you didn’t!”

“No, I didn’t. I left him in my car to wait for you.”

Sansa took a deep breath, wondering how she could feel trapped when she was outdoors. She tried to calm the queasy feeling in her tummy. Was Lord Baelish planning to keep her performing from here to Summerhall and perhaps all the way to Kings Landing despite being miles and miles away?

“I’ll go and see what he wants.”

“I’ll come with you.”

Her brother meant well, she knew. He was protective of her which she appreciated. He also loathed everything about her having to sing for Lord Baelish’s friends and Robb wasn’t very good at hiding his displeasure. It would only breed ill feelings.

“No, I’ll see what he wants. I’m not afraid of Marillion.”

But a few minutes later, she wondered if she should be afraid of him. She’d not noticed it at first when he’d stayed on the other side of Robb’s desk. It wasn’t till he’d crossed that boundary and stood so close that she’d smelled the gin on him and realized he was drunk.

“Come on, Birdie. Them toffs loved us. Want us back for another go tonight.”

“Did Lord Baelish arrange this?”

“Nah. This could be a bit o’ bread ’n butter on the side for me and you, is all. Shall I come and fetch you at 8?”

Her family might owe Lord Baelish but she didn’t owe Marillion so much as a groat. “I have rehearsing to do for my new act. I can’t perform for them all night and be ready for our opening tomorrow night. Now, please step back.”

He leaned closer, his hot breath offensive on her cheek. “Think their lordships care about your little circus? They might bring the brats down to watch the show but it’s your pretty face they want to see. Ser Edmund was especially keen to have you come perform for him and his friends at his manse.”

“I’m not keen to perform for him or any man he calls his friend after last time.”

“Ahh…they get a bit handsy?” he laughed as if he hadn’t been there. She glared at him. “You think you’re as fancy as them, don’t you?”

“I didn’t say that.”

“‘Don’t touch me, ser!’” he said in a mocking imitation of herself. He grasped her arm without permission. “It offends you when they treat you like the help, doesn’t it?”

“I just want to be treated like a person, same as anyone else, and not like an object,” she said, attempting to pull away.

He tightened his grip. “Well, no need to fret. I’ll be there to keep them from really misbehaving.”

 _We have an entirely different notion of what constitutes misbehaviour_. “That’s not a comfort and please, let go of my arm.”

He ignored her. “Lothor will be then.”

“Where is Lothor now?” she asked pointedly. “And I asked you to let go of me.”

“You and me, we’re just pretty baubles that sound sweet to them. Why not profit off it, eh? ‘Course, you look even sweeter than you sound, Birdie.” His eyes dipped downward. “I’ll bet your honey’s something else.”

A knife thudded into car’s wall just above Marillion’s head. They both gasped and turned to see Arya standing in the doorway, her face reminiscent of a thundercloud. “My sister asked you to let go of her.”

“I’m not at leisure to perform tonight. You’ll have to sing for Ser Edmund and his guests without me, I’m afraid,” she calmly told Marillion who was now standing in a puddle of his own making. “Thank you, Arya, for that demonstration of your skills.” She lifted her skirts and exited the car with as much dignity as she could muster.

Arya was soon following her. “Sansa?”

“I’m fine,” she said, hurrying to her car as she subtly rubbed her forearm. “Thank you for coming to me.”

“Sansa, stop.”

“I said I’m fine.”

Arya raced ahead of her, blocking her path. “No, you’re not.”

She rolled her eyes in frustration. “Fine. I’m not, alright? It doesn’t change anything. I’m…I’ve rehearsing to do for tomorrow and…”

“Sansa, we owe Lord Baelish a lot of money but that doesn’t make you his property.”

 _It might_ , she thought sadly.

What business did she have falling for Jon Snow and daydreaming about children if that could never be? If they couldn’t pay their debts when they reached Kings Landing, she would have to marry Lord Baelish or see every single member of her circus family thrown out in the streets. The young men might find work as labourers and some of the girls might find other acts to join or take work as maids but what of the rest? Was Old Nan supposed to sing for her supper? What of Ros and her baby? What would Robb do if he was left with the feeling that he’d failed them all? Would the authorities try and take Rickon and Bran from his custody? Would they be forced to go their separate ways?

“They can’t treat you this way. Robb won’t like it. He’ll…”

“Marillion was drunk and I don’t think he’ll come back after you scared the daylights out of him. Robb has enough worries. It’ll only cause trouble.”

“Well, I don’t like it,” she said, crossing her arms.

“Arya…” She paused and looked at her younger sister, so fierce and protective…and stubborn.

Father had once told them they might be as different as the sun and moon but the same blood flowed through their veins. They must use their individual strengths to protect each other. Sansa would never have Arya’s skill with a blade but that did not mean she wasn’t prepared to fight for them all.

_We will earn the money we owe and then we’ll be free of him for good._

_And if not?_

_Then, I will do what I must._

Sansa plastered on that performance smile of hers and kissed her sister’s cheek. “Thank you again but you needn’t worry about me.”

She was nearly to her car when Arya called to her again, her grey eyes solemn. “Sansa…the lone wolf dies.”

She nodded wanly, wishing human problems were less complicated like the troubles of wolves. “But the pack survives. Father always said so, didn’t he?”

 

* * *

 

 

Her faith that things would work out had returned and anxiety had faded by the late afternoon when Jon came along to escort her back to their grove. He’d washed the dust and dirt of work from his face and arms and he was wearing the shirt she’d made him. He yanked off his cap and his hair was damp and slicked back when she descended from her car.

“Are we all set?” She nodded so he took the picnic hamper from her, leaving her to carry the blanket. “What’s in here?” he asked, noticing the weight of it.

“You’ll see,” she replied, coyly.

He grinned before putting his cap back on and whistling for Ghost to join them. The direwolf was there in a thrice, panting and sniffing at the hamper.

 _Our chaperone,_ she thought, suppressing the urge to laugh. “You’ll see what’s in there soon enough, too,” she told the wolf.

Summer was at its zenith and she would not permit the potential future that awaited her this autumn when they reached the capital to spoil her day. She hummed to herself as they passed the chow tent where they wouldn’t be eating this evening. She had just realized she was humming the tune from her little wind-up toy when she caught Jon glancing at her, his grey eyes soft like fog. He was a handsome devil but a good man as well.

_My love for you may only be a summer song in the end but let it play in my heart if nowhere else. Let it be a sweet memory to chase away sorrow and the cold when winter comes again._

An hour later, sweat was trickling down her neck but the smile on her face was genuine. A gentle summer breeze blew through the thicket, cooling her as she started to rise from her precarious seat. Jon was standing on the ground slack-jawed as he watched them.

“Steady now, Ghost,” she murmured in attempt to sooth her own nerves.

She’d been riding on his back for the past half hour so it was time to take the next step. A direwolf might be every bit as large as a horse but they are not made the same. The slope of his muscled shoulders was more pronounced but his back was narrower. There were no reins to grasp either just fistfuls of white fur. But she trusted Ghost and knew he would try for her. And if she fell…well, she’d taken more than a few falls over the years.

“That’s it,” she said softly as she stood. “That’s it!” she cried as she felt surer of her footing. “Ghost! We’re doing it!”

She spread her arms wide for balance as the direwolf continued loping through the woods. Jon whooped and tossed up his cap to celebrate with her. Every so often, Ghost would stop to smell something but when she’d click her tongue he’d keep going, knowing he’d get a juicy sausage link if she was pleased when they completed their circuit.

In time, she could ride him same as Lady perhaps and perform tricks on wolf-back, something unheard of in modern day Westeros. Even the Lannisters and their lions did not have such an act.

Coming to a stop at last, she slid off his back and felt Jon’s hands at her waist to steady her before she touched the ground. She smiled shyly at him as he quickly moved his hands away. She didn’t mind his touch.

She’d worn her riding britches, boots and a blouse for this session as it was more practical though part of her wished she could’ve worn a pretty dress for this next part.

“Shall we dine?” she asked, jokingly.

“With pleasure, miss,” Jon said with an urbanity she’d never before heard from his lips. He coloured and followed it with, “I’m so starved, I’d eat my hat if I could.”

Jon had patiently watched them working. He’d looked white as a sheet when she’d stuck her head between Ghost’s powerful jaws so she’d chosen to only practice that once. But the riding was what she most wanted to master.

“Do you think folks will be impressed?” she asked as they walked back over to the blanket she’d brought.

“I’m sure of it.”

She smiled again and sat down to open the hamper she’d packed full of sausages for Ghost and a light supper for herself and Jon.

“A light supper? It’s a feast,” Jon declared when she started pulling out goodies.

She’d risen early this morning and gone with Bran into town to find what she wanted for today. Nan kept their bellies full but it was plain fare and Sansa had wanted something special for this occasion. She’d bought her brother a couple of the serial adventure novels he loved as a bribe of sorts. She’d told him she was practicing with Ghost this afternoon but she didn’t think he’d believed all the food was for the wolf.

When they’d been walking back, she’d spied Ros and Jon walking together in deep discussion. It had quite put her off her midday meal.

“Is that wine?”

“No, it’s just apple cider,” she said, blushing. After she’d grown so tipsy on champagne and kissed him, she was reluctant to imbibe again.

“I’ve always been partial to cider. And promise not to tell but this here beats that matured lamb Nan served earlier,” he winked.

She’d bought crusty brown bread and a pot of preserves, a block of sharp cheddar and some white grapes out of her wages. They each helped themselves to a sausage when Ghost wasn’t looking. There was even a slice of lemon cake for them to share.

 _But where are the forks?_ she thought with a frown. She’d left them out by mistake, it would seem. Their fingers would serve, she decided with a certain delight at the wildness of it.

Once their bellies were full. Ghost was napping beside them and acting as a perfect pillow…if one could ignore that their soft furry pillow occasionally passed gas.

“Sorry,” Jon cringed as if he was to blame.

Sansa bit her lip and said nothing. They could pretend it didn’t happen. _And it was me that fed him all those sausages_.

Between Ghost’s snores, their conversation was hushed as though they inhabited their own little private world here in the thicket. Jon spoke of his mother and different jobs he had held. Sansa spoke of her parents and her childhood memories of Winterfell before they’d taken to traveling so much.

“It sounds pretty.”

“It is. At least, it is to me. The mountains are so big and green in summer. Not everyone cares for it, I suppose. It’s cold and harsh come winter and the snows lay thick upon the ground but it’s…well, it’s home.”

He smiled sadly and it made her heart ache. Was there no place like that for him? Would he like a place like that someday?

“Do you ever think of going back there?”

“Oh, yes. We’re bound to tour there again, next year perhaps.”

“No, I mean, do you think of going back there to stay? Back to Winterfell where you were born?”

“Someday…perhaps,” she said, not wishing to think about whether that would ever be possible for her. She hugged her knees and rested her chin on them. Would she ever marry a man who’d want to live there? _It’d never be posh enough for a lord_ , she thought uneasily. She wished to distract herself from those thoughts. “Is there a part of the country that you’d call home? Some place you could consider part of you?”

“Nah, not me. My father maybe but…” His eyes widened and he closed his mouth.

“Your father?” He’d only ever mentioned his mother. She thought perhaps he’d never known his father. She’d imagined the man must be long dead. “Where does your father live?”

His jaw was clenched and he looked angry with himself. “He don’t live nowhere near these parts. Never mind I said anything.”

“Jon…”

“Please, Sansa…I don’t like talking about him.”

“Alright.” He didn’t owe her his family secrets even if he knew hers. There was no need to spoil their lovely picnic with talk of things he didn’t like. She wished it didn’t hurt that he didn’t want to tell her. “The fireflies are coming out. I suppose we should turn back soon.”

She stood but he did not join her. He was toying with his cap and looking more vulnerable than she’d ever seen him. “If I told you something about him…could you keep it between you and me?”

She sat back down beside him. “If you told me something in confidence, I wouldn’t share it with anyone.”

“In confidence,” he repeated with a chuckle. “Well, let’s say this is in confidence.”

He plucked a long strand of grass and started twisting it in knots. She was very curious but this was obviously not easy for him to come out and say. She laid back against Ghost once more and waited patiently, trusting him to speak when he was ready.

“What if my father was someone well-to-do?” Her mouth opened but then promptly closed. He wasn’t done, she could tell. “What if he was well-known or…a lord?”

“I might wonder why his son is living hand-to-mouth on the road,” she said in measured tones.

“Yeah,” he said in a voice that was at once light and filled with bitterness. “What if the son didn’t want nothing to do with him or his money? What if the son might prefer living hand-to-mouth and scrounging for his next meal to capers and stodgy old castles?”

“I’d say the son is his own man and there’s no shame in that.”

“My mother wasn’t good enough for…” He bit his lip and she took his hand. “He only wanted me once there wasn’t anyone left, you see. But I don’t want…I’d rather go hungry than be…is that the craziest thing you ever heard?”

“No.” She knew Jon well enough to know if he was that determined to make it on his own without his father’s help, he had his reasons. “Does he know where you are?”

“No.”

“Is he looking for you?”

“Apparently.”

“But you don’t want to be found.” It wasn’t a question. It was plain as day even as he gave her that sad smile again that made her heart ache and shook his head. “I’ll never tell a living soul, I promise.”

“Thank you, Sansa.”

The crickets were chirping and twilight had fallen. Robb would start to worry if they didn’t return soon. But here in the glade, their hands remained clasped and Sansa was content. She hated for the day to end.

Her hair had come loose while she was riding Ghost earlier. She let go of Jon’s hand and reached up to undo her bun, running her fingers through it. Jon watched her with a burning sort of intensity that made her feel all quivery inside.

His grey eyes grew darker. Was that desire? If so, why didn’t it make her nervous the way it did when other men stared at her like that?

They’d only had some cider. There was no champagne to blame now. Would a kiss be rebuffed if she dared? She wasn’t sure if she had to courage to find out.

_And can’t he kiss me instead this time?_

She hoped he might. Oh, how she hoped.

Her hair was loose and blowing in the breeze as one of Jon’s hands slowly lifted to touch it. His throat bobbed as he swallowed hard.

“Your hair’s very pretty.”

“Thank you,” she murmured, nervously combing her fingers through it again.

His expression unexpectedly changed in an instant though and his brow furrowed when he circled her wrist. “What happened?”

Her blouse sleeve had slid up and exposed the bruise Marillion had left earlier today. It was a deep purple, a fresh bruise.

“It’s…”

“Did someone hurt you?!”

His eyes were hard as flint now and his chest was heaving in a frightening manner. Jon had punched Halder for saying unkind words about her when he was in his cups. What might he do if he learned of Marillion? And if he was some lord’s son and that lord was looking for him and Jon didn’t want to be found…she couldn’t bear to cause him any hardship.

“No, don’t be silly. Just a little mishap when I was rehearsing with Bran this morning,” she lied.

He looked skeptical but just then, Ghost’s great head popped up and he began to growl. A stranger emerged from the woods behind them.

“‘Ello, mate. ‘Ello, miss. Do you know if the Stark Family Circus is camped near here?” he asked affably.

The man was not much older than Jon. His clothes were a bit rumpled but his suit was fashionable enough. He was not unattractive despite his crooked nose.

Jon stood first before pulling her to her feet. He kept himself between her and the stranger. Ghost was at her back, on his own four feet and growling menacingly now.

“Goodness me! He’s enormous!” the man cried, taking off his hat and putting it over his heart. “Why, he’s enough to give me heart palpitations like me poor old mam.” His eyes rose towards the heavens.

“Ghost, stop,” Sansa scolded.

The direwolf whimpered at her but kept staring at the man.

“I reckon’ I must’ve found it. Heard about that wolf there in town. So, are you part of the circus, mate?”

“Who’s asking?” Jon asked, sounding as hostile as Ghost did.

“Osney Kettleblack, at your service, jack of all trades,” he finished with a self-effacing shrug.

“And master of none, no doubt.”

“Jon!”

“Just looking for a spot of work, mate. Times is tough and I’ve always longed to see the world.”

“We’re just seeing Ashford at present so maybe you can hop a train.”

“Ever since I was a little feller, I told my dear, departed mam I was cut out to be a showman someday,” he added with an imploring look at Sansa.

“We’ve plenty of help already,” Jon huffed.

“That’s Robb’s decision, isn’t it?” she hissed in Jon’s ear.

“Robb, miss? Is he the proprietor then?”

“Yes, Robb Stark is the boss. I’m Sansa Stark, his sister.”

“Oh! Well, it’s lovely to make your acquaintance, milady,” he said with an awkward bow.

Yes, he was odd and clearly Jon hadn’t taken to him. But circus folk could be an eclectic crowd of varying personalities and her parents had always said to give folks half a chance to prove themselves before casting any judgment.

She knew Jon was displeased with her as they led Mr. Kettleblack back towards the circus grounds. He was sullen when she left the stranger with Robb but she hoped to get a smile out of him again before they parted for the night.

“Promise not to tell the lads that the princess ate her lemon cake with her fingers?” she asked, nudging his shoulder with her own. A grin appeared for half a second before being quickly squashed. “And you must swear not to tell them that I ate it all.”

“I feared I might lose a hand if I tried to take any from you.”

“Jon Snow!” she gasped before dissolving into giggles.

“Sansa, you shouldn’t be so quick to trust folks.”

“Maybe you’re right but I wouldn’t wish to be quick to condemn them either. I think Robb made a rather good hire back in Highgarden.” He didn’t hide his grin this time and her heart felt lighter. “That Theon Greyjoy has worked out well enough after all.”

His mouth flew open before he realized she was teasing. “Oh, you think that’s funny, do you?”

She laughed heartily and he nudged her shoulder back.

Beth Cassel approached and they separated. It was time to say goodnight anyway.

“I’ll see you tomorrow, milady,” Jon whispered with a bow. “Ghost stays with you tonight, alright?”

Of course, he did. He always stayed with her at night. This was the first time Jon had suggested it though.

“Yes, of course.  And I promise to take heed of your warning.”

He tipped his cap to her and Beth and she watched him head off to find his patch of grass under the stars. More than likely, he’d be settling under her window once everyone else went to bed.

“Did you need me, Beth?”

“This letter came for you, Miss Sansa, but was somehow left in my car. I don’t know how it got there or who brought it.”

The parchment was a creamy white and much smoother than the yellowish pulp Bran’s adventure novels were published on. There was a fancy ‘A’ stamped on it with her name scribbled beneath it.

“Thank you, Beth,” she mumbled, heading to the privacy of her car with Ghost trailing her.

Who had delivered this and why was it left with Beth? She sighed with resignation as she broke the seal to read. It wasn’t until she read the post script that she felt any hope.

 

_My Dear Miss Stark,_

_I was saddened to learn that you were unavailable to perform at my little bash tonight and I hope your lovely voice will soon be restored. I’d so relished the thought of you warbling for my friends after being simply astounded by your talent and breath-taking beauty the other evening. However, Lord Baelish’s man Mr. Brune has assured me that you’ll be free of any other engagements this coming Monday and should be fully recuperated by then and that he’d happily escort you to my humble abode for a command performance. I’ve taken the liberty of wiring his lordship and promised him twice your usual fee._

 

_Yours,_

_Ser Edmund Ambrose_

 

_P.S. I’ve heard of that fantastic beast your sideshow has acquired, the white direwolf. Any hope that it might be brought along to dazzle my guests? I’d pay triple for his presence alone._

 


End file.
